Day by Day
by Tigerwalk
Summary: One shot continuations of the Summer Nights story.
1. Chapter 1

A/N In case you were wondering how this day went down :)

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"So, you're a cop?"

"Yes, Sir. Sheriff's Deputy."

Rick was seated on the burgundy love seat in Michonne's parent's living room, across from the imposing couple. Michonne was perched beside him with her back straight and legs crossed, looking more like she was at a job interview than visiting her childhood home on a Sunday afternoon.

"Civil servant job," her father huffed, glowering at him from his wing back chair. "Can't pay very well."

Rick grinned, holding in a laugh as Michonne's eyes opened wide. She wasn't lying when she said this wouldn't be easy, he thought.

"Dad, please? Rick, you don't have to respond to that rude comment," Michonne said, her hands still folded primly on her knee.

"It's fine," he said, soothing her with a smile before turning back to her father. "It's a small department, but I'm the ranking Captain, so I do alright."

"Still," her father continued. "It's dangerous work. The kind that leaves your family worried a lot, I bet."

Michonne's mother, Cynthia, a finely aged version of Michonne with the same deep complexion surrounded by a crown of loosely pinned grey hair, sat comfortably across from them in the matching chair to her husband's, passing her gaze back and forth between the two. Despite her soft, mirthful eyes that somewhat belied her formal posture, she seemed content to watch her daughter's boyfriend handle the inquisition on his own, offering no reaction to either the questions or the answers.

"Well, that's true," Rick said, catching Cynthia's eyes and offering a nod. "But I subscribe to the lightning doesn't strike twice theory." He chanced a self assured smile, an attempt to let the man know he wasn't feeling intimidated by his questions. That's what it was about anyway, he knew, testing what he was willing to endure for Michonne. He would win that game pretty easily.

"And what does that mean, Rick?"

"I took a bullet in the line of duty a couple years ago, Sir. Like to think I've paid my dues."

"So you think you're invincible now?"

"No, Sir. I just think the odds are on my side. I spent a couple months in a coma, came pretty close to losing my life, so I know the risks."

Cynthia finally showed a break in her stoic expression at that information, her maternal instincts appearing on her face in a sympathetic frown, while Michonne's father nodded silently.

"Daddy, let's give Rick a break from the third degree, ok?"

She gave him an apologetic smile, then turned back to her parents, pleading with her mother's eyes for backup.

"Yes, Henry," the older woman finally stepped in. "Let's have some iced tea and enjoy the afternoon on the lanai." She stood, smoothing her hands over the front of her red, linen slacks and gave her husband a firm look.

Michonne stood and Rick did too, following her mother through the house and out a sliding glass door, onto a covered patio. The sitting area looked over a grassy courtyard that showed no indication of its position plunked in the middle of a metropolitan area and Rick found the fresh air and small slice of nature eased his senses.

Her father followed them out, politely offering the two a seat before returning to the kitchen with his wife to pour their drinks.

"I'm sorry," Michonne whispered, once they were alone. "He always insists on doing this."

"It's fine. You warned me." He gave her a grin and reached out to squeeze her hand that was hanging between them. "I have to say though, he's pretty good at this. Has he had a lot of practice interrogating new boyfriends?" He kept a playful tone, but the question was only partially feigned. He was starting to wonder how long the list of men who had irritated Henry must be to warrant this level of difficulty.

He didn't get an answer though, as their hosts returned to them carrying a tray with four glasses and a pitcher of cold iced tea and lemons. He felt Michonne drop his hand the moment they reappeared.

"So, tell us about your parents, Rick," her mother asked, once they had all taken a seat around the umbrella covered table. Her tone was lighter than before, and Rick suspected she had taken the time to convince Henry to adopt the same, given the forced pleasant smile on his face.

"My parents have both passed, Ma'am." Rick replied, taking a long sip of his tea. "I have a brother who lives a couple hours away. He's my only family."

"I'm sorry to hear that," her father responded, again seeming to soften a bit. "So how did you two meet?"

Rick glanced at Michonne, wondering if she had a pre-designed story to tell. He had a feeling her father wouldn't be impressed to hear they met at a bar and spent the next two days bouncing between their hotel rooms.

"We met on vacation," Michonne said simply, catching her mother's eye with her ill-defined answer. "Just happened to be we lived an hour apart."

"Michonne told us you live in King's County," her mother said, seeming to allow them the limited details Michonne offered about their meeting. "I've driven through it. It's...quaint."

"Yes, Ma'am," he agreed. "I grew up there. I found it was helpful to live in the community where I patrol, so I bought a house in town."

Rick thought the mention of his homeownership might earn him some points in her father's eyes. He seemed like the type who would value the responsibility that came with it. He hadn't anticipated the line of questioning that would follow, though.

"Single man owning his own house, don't find that much nowadays," Henry mused, leaning back in his chair and searching Rick's face. "What made you want to buy a house for just you?"

Rick chanced another glance at Michonne, clearing his throat before he answered. "I was married when I bought it, Sir. Had different intentions at the time, but it's paid off and I've done a lot of work to it over the years, so I couldn't see getting rid of it."

Her father seemed displeased to hear this information, and Rick had guessed he would be when Michonne's shoulders tensed up just as soon as the question was posed.

"Married, huh?" he asked, looking as if he had just discovered the thread that would unravel the whole thing. "Divorced or widowed?"

"Divorced."

"How long?"

"It'll be a year this month."

"What happened?"

"Dad!" Michonne exclaimed, shifting in her seat.

"Seems like a valid question for a man that wants to date my daughter," he returned, sitting up a bit straighter and squaring his broad shoulders at her.

"He is dating your daughter, Dad," Michonne said, matching his posture. "You aren't interviewing a candidate."

Rick glanced uncomfortably back and forth between Michonne and her father, unsure if he was supposed to answer the question. Though it wasn't his favorite subject, he had nothing to hide and he would give the man what he wanted if he thought it was necessary.

"Henry," her mother interrupted. "Michonne is thirty years old, the pool of unmarried men in her age group is going to include some with their own history."

"Oh my God, Mom."

Rick hated to find any enjoyment in Michonne's discomfort, but the place where the conversation was headed was starting to amuse him. He decided to just lay his cards on the table, before his lack of answer caused more undue speculation.

"She left," he stated, bringing all three sets of eyes back to him. "We got married young, grew apart, and she found someone else who was better suited for the woman she had become. I didn't intend for my marriage to fall apart, and I made my own mistakes in the matter, but I like to think I learned from 'em. It was nothing scandalous, it just...happened."

Michonne and Cynthia tossed their gaze back to Henry who seemed to be searching his brain for a response. He looked caught off guard by Rick's candidness, blinking rapidly and scratching his fingers along his thick jowls.

"No kids?" he finally asked.

"No, Sir."

"And she let you keep the house?"

Michonne let out a loud groan, leaning back in her chair in exasperation.

Rick allowed a grin to spread across his face. He recognized the look of a man who was ready to lay down his arms. He shrugged, offering a resolute look. "She moved into his, so it only seemed fair."

Michonne reached under the table, grabbing his hand and pulling it into her lap. It was the first time she had so much as touched him since they had been in her parent's presence, and he turned his smile toward her.

"Well," Henry said, slapping his palms on the front of his thighs, "I think I'd prefer something stronger than this tea. You a whiskey man, Rick?"

"I am," Rick nodded.

"Follow me, then."

…

When she had been left alone with her mother, Michonne stood and walked to the edge of the lania, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves. "Thanks for the help, Mom," she said dryly.

"I think that went perfectly fine, dear."

"Really?" she scoffed, her head whipping around her shoulder to see her mother struggling to contain a grin.

"You brought a divorced cop in cowboy boots over here, told us you met on vacation, and don't you think I don't know how that went down, and your father is in there sharing a drink with him. I'd say it went very well."

She turned around, letting her back rest on the railing and crossed her arms in front of her with a sigh. "He never invited Mike for a drink," she relented with her own grin.

"Mike wouldn't have lasted five minutes under your father's interrogation. Rick didn't even break a sweat; he earned it."

"I'm in love with him, Mom."

"I can see that very plainly, Michonne. I'm sure your father can too, so you can relax now. The hard part is over."

…

"Sorry about that out there," Henry said once they reached the built in bar tucked in the corner of their dining room. "It's my job. You understand?"

"I do," Rick nodded, shifting his feet beneath him as he watched Henry pour out two glasses of expensive whiskey and put the bottle back.

"I like to weed them out early, you see. Michonne is tough, self-reliant. Anyone who can handle me is well suited to handle...to attempt to handle her." He gave Rick a genuine grin and Rick nodded knowingly. He was well accustomed to Michonne's independence. He found it comforting. Though he would do anything for her, it was nice to know she was with him because she wanted to be, not out of some need. Michonne didn't do anything she didn't want to. "She seems happy," Henry said, handing a glass to Rick.

"I aim to keep it that way, Sir. She makes me happy, too."

It was Henry's turn to nod, as he tapped his glass to Rick's and took a sip. "Well, then I think you and I will get along just fine, Rick."

"I'm glad to hear that." He brought his glass to his lips, allowing the fire from the whiskey to burn in his throat as he breathed a sigh of relief.

…

"I'm thoroughly impressed," Michonne said as they pulled out of her parents driveway watching them wave from the front steps. "I was certain my dad was going to eat you alive."

"So you were leading me to my death?" he asked, chuckling as she gave him an innocent smile. His phone began to buzz loudly in the center console and he reached for it, his laughter growing when he glanced at the screen.

"What's that?" she asked, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she drove.

"Daryl sent me somethin'," he replied, typing a quick response and dropping his phone again.

"You two exchanged numbers?"

"We spent the whole night together," he smiled. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

"How do you keep doing this?" she asked with suspicious eyes.

"Doing what?"

"Fitting into my life so perfectly. My friends love you, my dad casually invites you to spend holidays with us after meeting you once." She shook her head, launching into a perfect imitation of Henry. "Well Rick, we'd really like to see you again. How's Thanksgiving sound?"

Rick laughed at her impression, deciding she must have spent years honing it. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think Andrea's date liked me much."

"And why's that?" she snickered, knowing full well that Phillip wasn't going to be around long enough for that to matter.

"I don't know," he shrugged, leaning back onto his headrest. "Just the impression I got. He kept shooting me dirty looks over the top of his glass."

"Well, based on Daryl and Bob's opinion of him, I'd say that's probably a point in your favor too."

"Maybe," he replied, giving her a confident smirk.

"So are you coming, then?"

"Where?"

"To my parents for Thanksgiving?"

"You want me to? I know your dad didn't really get your opinion before askin' me."

"I do want you to," she said looking over at him with a sincere smile.

"Then I'll be there."


	2. Chapter 2

_"So I got a thang in a couple weeks I was hoping you would come to..."_

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"Hey!" Michonne rushed through the door Rick was holding open, her heels clicking on the hardwood of his entry way and a black garment bag slung over her shoulder. She had a deep maroon hue swept across her lips and varying shades of gold shimmering around the thick, black line of her lashes. Her locks were woven on the top of her head into an elaborate pompadour, leaving her long neck and dainty collarbone exposed to his stare."Am I late?" she asked, taking in his slightly agape mouth and lack of greeting.

"No, no, you're fine," he finally managed, as she handed him the bag and shut the door behind her. "You look gorgeous."

"Thank you," she smiled. "I'm ready except the dress." She pointed to the bag he hung over the banister for her and let her eyes drop down his front, her face breaking into a grin on the way back up. "And you look very handsome," she purred.

His dress uniform, which rarely made it out of his closet, included full sleeves, a tie and a jacket and he was glad to hear it was at least pleasing to Michonne, as he had been cursing the extra layers since he put them on. "Thanks," he replied. "Let me take your coat. We have a few minutes till we have to leave."

Michonne clutched her ivory pea coat closed, putting a hand out to stop him. "Actually, I was rushing out of the house and I didn't feel like finding other clothes to wear just for the drive, so...I didn't."

"What do you mean?" he smirked, eyeing her suspiciously. He gently removed her hand from the lapels of her coat, untying the belt with his other hand.

Her coat slipped open and his wide eyes were met with nothing but her bare skin and a pair of pink panties. "You're killing me, Michonne," he said, running his tongue over his bottom lip, as his hands instinctively reached out to touch her. "Did you drive all the way over here like that?"

"Yes," she admitted, "but I wasn't even going to show you, I was just going to run upstairs and put my dress on as soon as I got here." She eased his hands away from her hips, lacing his fingers with hers to keep them from wandering.

"But now I know," he argued, reaching forward to press his lips to her chest as she restrained him.

"Rick, we don't have time," she laughed, squirming away from him. "Besides, you wreck this hair and makeup before we get there and we're going to have a problem."

"Can I wreck it later?" he asked, relenting slightly when he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall over her shoulder.

"Yes, you can do whatever you want after we get home, but right now I need to get dressed."

Considering that to be a fair deal, he took his hands back and stepped aside so she could make her way to his room to get dressed, heading to the kitchen to pour himself a drink while he waited.

True to her word, she only took a few minutes to slip into her dress, descending the staircase slowly in her tall heels, one hand on the railing and the other holding the coat she had finally removed. He turned from the counter where he was mixing his cocktail and found her standing in front of him, holding her hands out to her side to give him an unobstructed view of her gown.

"Jesus, Michonne," he said, before he could stop to think of something more eloquent.

"Is it ok?" she asked, doing a little twirl so he could see the other side of the dress which was almost non-existent. The shimmering, champagne colored fabric crisscrossed on her shoulder blades, then took a deep dive, exposing the smooth planes of her back before coming together again and clinging to her round backside. "I've never been to one of these before, so I wasn't sure." She looked back over her shoulder when he didn't respond right away, his bottom lip between his teeth as he perused her curves. "I have a simple black one in the car if this is too much…"

"Don't you dare change out of that dress," he answered, taking a sip of his drink and letting his eyes explore the deep slit of the skirt where her bare leg peaked out.

"Ok," she agreed with a relieved smile. She reached for his glass and stole a sip. "I'm a little nervous."

Rick laughed, gesturing for her to keep his drink while he turned to mix another. "You've got nothing to be nervous about. It's a bunch of guys like Shane and me who were forced to get dressed up and attend this thing for work. You're probably more comfortable at an event like this than any of us."

"Maybe," she smiled as he finished his pour and turned to tap their glasses together. "But still, it's going to be like old home days for you. I haven't met many of your friends besides Shane and Abe."

"Well, Shane will be there too, so you'll know him and besides, it's about time I paraded you around town."

He finished his drink and took her empty glass to the sink, returning with his arm outstretched to lead her to the door. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she said, slipping into her coat that he held out for her.

…

"Prepare yourself for a lot of ogling tonight," he whispered into her ear as they entered the ballroom of the only hotel in the area surrounding Rick's home town. His hand settled on the small of her back, leading her through the double doors and into the romantically lit space, quiet music and boisterous laughter greeting them as they crossed the threshold. "I shoulda warned them all before bringing you in here," he said. "Some of the older guys are liable to have heart attacks."

"Stop it," she giggled, hooking her arm through his and taking in the room. It was a sea of brown and khaki punctuated by an array of colorful gowns and everyone in attendance was chatting like old friends already. Rick did a quick scan of the crowd, making a mental note of who he should make a point to talk to for political reasons, and who he wanted to make sure got a glimpse of Michonne on his arm.

"You want a drink?" he asked, spotting one of his men at the bar and figuring it was as good a place as any to start showing her off.

"Of course." She followed, squeezing her fingers around his bicep as they walked across the low pile carpet, maneuvering through groups of his colleagues whose heads swiveled on their necks as they passed.

Rick nodded to a couple of the rookies who were under his command, forcing himself to bury the grin that threatened his hard nosed reputation when he spotted them stealing glances at his date. They found an empty spot at the bar and he asked the bartender for a rum and coke, having memorized her drink of choice by now, and ordered himself a beer. "You're doing wonders for my image right now," he said, gesturing to the group of young men to her right who looked like they had just graduated from the academy. Three of them stood together in a tight circle, struggling between their appreciation of her and their fear of getting caught by Rick's threatening stare.

"I'm sure you do just fine by yourself," she smiled, taking in the way their heads snapped back to their conversation as he shot a warning look across their bow.

"Someone has got to keep them in line." His face softened again when he turned back to her. "But, I can't blame 'em too much for staring."

"So, who am I going to meet tonight?" she asked, taking a step closer and tilting her chin up toward him. "Looks like a lot of important people here."

"No one too interesting. The Sheriff and his wife are over there," he said, pointing to a large table full of white haired men with gold stripes on their sleeves. "Couple of town councilors. We don't have too many celebrities around here."

"Ok then, introduce me to your friends."

"These are work associates, not friends," he joked, "but Shane will be here any minute so you'll have to put up with more of him and whatever girl he's decided to torture for the evening."

As if on cue, a loud giggle came from over Michonne's shoulder and Rick straightened his posture to watch a blonde girl with a cotton candy colored, taffeta dress waltz toward them holding a glass of wine in one hand and her clutch in the other. Shane was following at a slight distance behind her, his eyes roaming her curvy figure as she led the way.

"Well, look who it is," Shane announced as the two saddled up beside Michonne, and Shane's smiling date looked them over. "Michonne, it is a pleasure to see you again." He took ahold of her free hand, pressing his lips to her palm while Rick eyed him with displeasure. "This is Carrie. Carrie, Rick and Michonne."

Michonne and Rick both took turns shaking the woman's hand, exchanging a private look of amusement when she turned back to her date. "You find a table yet?" Rick asked Shane, feeling slightly sorry for the fact that Michonne was probably going to be stuck making conversation with Carrie for most of the night once they took their seats.

"I did. Saved you two some seats, but first we need a round." Shane waved at the bartender, beckoning him to their section.

"We already have drinks," Rick said pointing with his beer bottle to Michonne's glass.

"Round of shots, man. Come on."

Rick groaned as the bartender filled Shane's order, handing over four tiny glasses of Crown Royal mixed with apple schnapps."

Michonne smiled, as she accepted the fruity shot from Shane, toasting her date as he reluctantly swallowed the mixture with a look of distaste. "Come on," she said, taking his arm again and following behind Shane. "We're here. Let's have a good time."

…

"And that's when Rick here, takes out his cuffs and pretends to arrest the thing," Shane said, pausing to control his laughter. "He goes as far as to read it it's ghostly rights, when the woman looks at him like _he's_ the crazy one and yells 'No Officer! It's over there!'"

The table broke out into a fit of giggles at the culmination of Shane's story with even Rick cracking a smile at his own expense. Shane had been feeding them drinks and tales all night and the carb heavy buffet hadn't been able to keep up with the buzz they were both building. The music finally picked up on the ballroom floor and Carrie squealed in delight, pulling Shane's jacket sleeve until he followed her out to the center of the floor. The two other couples who had joined them for dinner, deputies and their wives who Michonne found much more interesting than Shane's date, slowly made their way out to dance as well.

Rick pushed his chair closer to Michonne's when they were left alone and ran a finger along the tight collar of his dress shirt. "You wanna join 'em?" he asked, clearly reluctant to hear her answer.

"Not yet," she smiled, to his relief. "I finally have you to myself again."

Rick glanced at his watch. "Couple more hours until we're really alone."

His drawl was getting thicker and she smiled at the tell, noting Shane had succeeded in his mission to loosen him up. "You know, we spend a lot of our time together under the influence," she offered, feeling her own words start to swim.

Rick shrugged, lazily. "Guess that's what happens when you only see each other on weekends."

"True," she agreed, thinking back to the dive bar they met at and the weddings, and work parties, and BBQ's they had been accompanying each other to week after week since.

"Does that bother you?" he asked, turning his shoulders toward her and reaching for his glass of water.

"No," she said, noticing the gesture. "It just seems like we're still on vacation sometimes. Not doing the harder stuff like you said."

He nodded, looking as if he was searching for a solution in his head. "So, tomorrow we'll stay in," he decided. "You can watch me do laundry and clean out my fridge and then we can argue about what to watch on TV, like a Tuesday night couple."

"Deal," she laughed, thinking that sounded like a very enjoyable day.

He took her hand, settling it onto his lap as they watched the crowd on the dance floor become more and more animated when the beat picked up. They both chuckled as Shane tried to keep up with his date and the younger deputies quickly forgot about the judging eyes of their superiors, letting loose with their pretty dates.

"I read something interesting about couples once," Michonne said, pulling his attention back to her. "It said a good way to tell if you're compatible is to go to a party together and if, after the party ends, you find yourselves left with the same impressions of the people you interacted with, then you're going to do alright together."

"Really..." he said, his interest piqued. He sat up a little straighter and scanned the crowd again, lingering on a few of the people he had introduced her to over the course of the night. "Alright then, tell me what you think so far. What are your first impressions?"

"Ok. Let's start with Shane's date. She seems interesting," she offered, secretly anxious to hear what Rick thought of the bubbly blonde.

"Hey now, this is your game. You gotta play fair. Say what you really think?"

"Alright," she relented. "She's a little...obnoxious." She laughed at her own candidness, feeling emboldened by her many drinks.

"We're off to a good start then," he replied, joining in her laughter. "Who else?"

"Hmm," she said, glancing around the room. "The Sheriff." She pointed her chin at the table where Rick's boss sat, still finishing his dinner. "He seems like a good man. I'm sure he excels at the political part of his job, even if his jokes are a little dated."

"Can't argue any of that," he shrugged. He took another sip of his drink, searching the dance floor. "What about Leon?" he asked, pointing with his beer bottle to one of the deputies who had recently left their table.

Michonne looked in the man's direction, taking a moment to choose the right words for her response. "He was nice enough," she started, "but I hope he doesn't go on a lot of calls with you. I'd hate to think of him as your backup."

Rick chuckled quietly. "You don't have to worry about that. He stays behind the desk mostly. For good reason." He gestured with his head toward the bar where a few more of his men were gathered. "Anyone else?"

Michonne scanned the group, her eyes falling on a blonde woman in a dark green dress who she had noticed at previous moments throughout the night. Their eyes had met a few times in a way that could very well have been accidental, but she had a feeling it wasn't. "The girl in the ponytail, next to the Sheriff's wife," she said, pointing with her glass.

Rick turned over his shoulder to follow her gaze, just as the woman glanced toward them. Rick gave her a polite nod, then turned back to Michonne with his head tilted to the side and his eyes darting around her face. "What about her?"

"She seems more interested in you than in her date," she noted with a sly grin.

He reached for his beer again, sipping before he replied. "That's Jessie Anderson," he said. "She and I went on a couple dates a long while back."

Michonne's face fell, unpleasantly surprised by her own perceptiveness. "You said you hadn't been with any..."

"I hadn't," he jumped in, cutting her off before she could fully form the accusation. "We didn't." He shifted in his seat, turning his back completely to the bar and seizing her gaze back from the unintended visitor to their conversation. "It was a couple dates; it didn't go anywhere. I shoulda known it wouldn't but…"

"But what?"

"It was a few months after my ex wife left," he said, blowing out a long breath and leaning back in his chair. "She just...she reminded me of her in a way and I thought I wanted that...needed that. To go back to what I knew, to knowing what was expected of me. But I'm sitting there, staring across the table at Jessie and I'm seeing Lori, hearing her voice in everything she was saying and it hit me that this was a story I already knew the end to. Like I'd heard this song before, you know?"

"I do know," she whispered. It was exactly how she felt when she met up with Mike all those years after they had broken up, thinking she wanted that familiarity, that comfort. She quickly realized however, that she had been broken and put back together in a completely new way and they just didn't fit anymore. She imagined it was like that for him, trying to fit into a box you had outgrown.

"So is that four for four?" he asked, after they had both taken a few moments with their thoughts.

"I don't know if that one really counts, but we were doing pretty well before."

"I guess we're gonna be ok then," he smiled. "I coulda guessed."

She smiled back, squeezing his hand . "I'm sorry I brought that up...Jessie."

"You say that a lot, like you think I don't want to do the hard stuff with you." He brought his free hand up, running his thumb over her cheek. "Do you wanna do the hard stuff with me, Michonne? Cause you were just saying this was feeling a little too easy."

"I didn't say that," she said quietly, feeling his eyes running the length of her. "I want to do everything with you."

He leaned forward, dropping his lips to her bare shoulder for a quick kiss. "What do you say we get a cab and head out early?"

"Are you trying to get out of dancing with me?" she flirted, tossing a look at the still bouncing dance floor.

"Only thing I'm trying to get us out of are these clothes."

"Mmmhmm. How about you call a cab and give me one dance while we wait?"

"Deal," he said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "A slow song."


	3. Chapter 3

Hi guys, the next few chapters are connected, so more like a mini fic, but I wanted to put them here to keep this series in chronological order. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. I live for that review email :)

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 **Winter Days part 1:** "Everything's harder than being on vacation"

"I want to see you again." It was the first thing he'd said to her when he'd called that night after they left their vacation and landed back in their real lives. No games, no waiting three days to call, just an unambiguous, earnest confession. He wanted her and he was willing to put himself out there to make sure he got her.

She agreed, of course. There was something about him pulling her in as well, something she hadn't experienced before. A kindred spirit type of bond, the kind of stuff she used to scoff at, but there was no other explanation for the way she felt making love to him only two days after they met. She didn't have an ounce of regret. All of the voices in her head that regularly chastised her for taking any action on the advice of her heart fell silent, in awe of the connection she felt.

Rick had driven to her the following weekend and they'd picked up right where they had left off, which led to sharing the weekend after that, and the weekend after that, alternating between his house and hers, city and country, his friends and her plans. Whatever was going on for either of them, from that point on, they were just together.

That pattern eventually led to him being her date to Maggie's wedding, where he had made another deliberate assertion that, despite the frenzied pace they were setting, he was sure and she should be too. And he had convinced her, just like that. With one look from him she found herself handing over the reigns, content for the first time in as long as she could remember, to give up her control over what would happen next, and just be.

She'd left Mike because he was holding her back from being her best self, and once she'd cut that tether and started running, she never stopped. She was running toward her own path, but also away from something. She wasn't even sure what that something was anymore, but every man since Mike had somehow been incapable of matching her stride. They were weaker than her and threatened by it, or they were just as strong, but their interests collided with hers. Until Rick. He was strong, confident and he made it clear her interests were his interests. She had fallen in love with him so easily, like putting on a cozy winter coat after shivering in her own cold detachment for so long.

She didn't know how she got from there to this moment now, what made her say the things she had said. She thought she had stopped running when she met Rick, that she had finally let someone catch up but, like a movement burned into muscle memory, her heart stood ready to sprint again at the slightest whisper of dependence on someone else.

Maybe she just didn't know how to be this happy, maybe she had some deep character flaw that wouldn't allow her to maintain that type of a connection. Or maybe it was just bad timing, something Rick didn't believe in. When she had questioned the breakneck pace of their relationship early on, he told her timing was all in people's heads; he said if something was meant to be, then you would find the strength to move what held you back. But this time it was her holding herself back. She'd spent the last few years determined to move mountains to get what she wanted, but in doing so she had become one, and now she stood squarely in her own way.

Whatever the cause, here she was, ending a perfectly terrible day laying on Andrea's couch, crying. She was crying. She hadn't cried over a man since high school. It was fitting, though. She hadn't giggled, or played or felt as light as Rick made her feel, since she was a kid.

It was just bad timing, she told herself. Whether Rick believed in it or not, he had just asked her on the wrong day.

…

"I'm sorry, I'm just having a hard time understanding this. This is the same guy?" Aaron was leaning back in the upholstered, rolling chair at Michonne's desk, dressed in hiking boots and jeans and trying to take inventory of what he had missed over the last few months he had been off saving the world.

"Yes," Michonne said, as she dug into her take out lunch in the wooden chair across from him. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

Olivia let out a small laugh, sharing a look with their newly returned colleague. Aaron had been traveling abroad, continuing the work their law firm was doing through an NGO in more impoverished nations, and he had returned home that week to a whole new Michonne.

"Show him the picture, from the thing." Olivia gestured to Michonne's phone sitting on the edge of her desk, and Michonne finished her bite before picking it up and scrolling through her photos. She found the one she was looking for, a shot of her and Rick at the charity ball he had taken her to, him looking handsome in his dress uniform and her wearing a champagne colored, gown. She enjoyed showing this one off and she already anticipated Aaron's reaction when she handed him her phone.

"Wow, ok. I guess I can see why this has lasted."

"Shut up," she laughed, snatching the phone back and taking one more look at Rick's chiseled jaw before tossing it aside.

"So, when can I meet him?" Aaron said with a large grin.

"He's only in town every other weekend. He lives in King's County."

"Oh, so he doesn't just look like a cowboy, he actually is one?"

"It's not like that," she said around a mouthful of lo mein. "It's a very cute little town."

"Mmhmm," Aaron snickered. "Sounds like our city mouse is turning into a country mouse."

"Hardly," she scoffed.

"I'm calling it now," Olivia said, "Michonne, married and pregnant, sitting on a porch swing in a little country dress and cowboy boots, sipping sweet tea. We better start looking for her replacement now."

Michonne huffed a mocking breath at her co-workers. "You can't be serious," she snorted, suddenly feeling diffident under Olivia's smirk. "Do I look like the type?" She gestured to her tailored skirt and jacket, crossing her legs to show off her expensive designer shoes.

"I'm not sure I can picture Michonne doing anything other than this," Aaron offered.

"Thank you."

"I don't know, Michonne," Olivia taunted. "You're pretty smitten and guys like that, they like to have their women waiting on them with a hot meal when they get home at night. How are you going to do that with the hours you work?"

"You've never even met him," Michonne said, tossing the trash from her lunch in the wastebin. "How could you possibly know how he is?" She scrunched her eyebrows at her friend. It had only been five months, but Michonne was sure she knew Rick better than that. She knew Rick's ex was the housewife type, choosing to work part time so she could tend to their house and be active in the community, but Rick had never said that was something he had expected from her.

"I know the type," Olivia said, folding her arms across her chest. "Country boy, handsome as hell. They're chivalrous, old fashioned. Bet he opens car doors and picks up the tab everywhere you go. Hell, I'm surprised he hasn't locked you down with a big ring already, moved you out there permanently."

Rick's easy suggestion, after Maggie's wedding, that they'd end up the next to be walking down the aisle, played in her mind. He was being dramatic, she told herself. He had to know, as much as she loved him and as fast as this had all happened, she was in no rush to settle down. Besides, she thought, he'd shown no indication that he expected her to give anything up whenever they did end up there. Mike was the one who wanted her to choose between her career and him, confessing his undying love in an attempt to have her stay beside him while he finished school, rather than follow her own dreams. She'd given up a scholarship and her top choice law school for that empty promise. Rick hadn't asked her to give up anything. She shook her head at Olivia and stood to reclaim her desk from her friend.

"Break time is over, we've got work to do," she said, using her most assertive tone. She needed to put an end to any speculation that her life goals had changed because she was spending every other weekend with a gorgeous man who just happened to live a different life than she did.

"We will talk more on Monday," Aaron said, turning to give her a hug. "It's good to come home to you looking this happy."

She agreed with a nod to herself. She was happy. She could have it all with Rick, things were working just fine. Olivia didn't know what she was talking about.

…

Michonne scanned through her shopping list, wandering through the produce aisle while Rick leaned on the cart behind her. "Are they really out of red onion?" she despaired, scanning the rows for a third time.

Rick shrugged, his eyelids drooping as he waited for her to select a substitute. It was almost 8 o'clock by the time he arrived at her condo, changed and got back in her car to go to the grocery store. He had been at work since six am and just wanted to be done with this errand and back on her couch, wrapped around her while they scrolled through the options on her Netflix subscription. "I'm sure it'll taste the same with regular ones," he said through a yawn.

She looked at him sympathetically and grabbed a few yellow onions, moving down her list. "Almost done," she said.

Twenty minutes and nine ingredients later, they were ready to check out. Daryl was having everyone over to watch the college bowl games at his house the next day, and she had promised to make a dish. However, her motivation the past Monday afternoon, when she had decided on her contribution, was much stronger than it was now, late Friday evening. Wishing she had just volunteered to buy cookies, she glanced one more time at her list to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, before heading to the check out. Rick helped her load all of the items onto the counter and a perky redhead, whom he had been having a friendly conversation with all the while, informed them that the total came to $38.16.

Rick reached for his wallet in his back pocket, his body squared off in front of the card reader.

"I've got it, Rick," Michonne said.

"No, it's fine," he replied, retrieving his card from its sleeve. "You're gonna do the cooking, I'll get the ingredients."

"Rick!" she said forcefully, causing the cashier to jump a little. His eyes widened and he regarded her irritated face as if he didn't recognize it. "I can get it."

He took a step back, putting his hands up in surrender and went to help the grey-haired man at the end of the line load the bags into their cart.

"You wanna tell me what that was about?" he asked, once they had purchased and wheeled the groceries out to her car, properly strapping the bags and themselves in.

"I have a good job that I work very hard at," she said, keeping her eyes trained on the windshield. "I get paid well and I take care of myself all week when you aren't here, Rick. You don't have to pay for everything all the time."

He was quiet for a few moments, studying the same empty parking lot scene she was suddenly taken with. He finally nodded his head in the dark, turning toward her seat to catch her eye in the light from the dashboard. "Ok," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it bothered you."

Michonne softened at the sound of his matter-of-fact apology. She didn't mean to snap at him; she was rarely irrational, but he was even less so. "Thank you," she said, finding his hand and giving it a squeeze to clear the air and the strange feeling that had come over her.

They chatted comfortably on the way back to her condo, rehashing their long work days and chuckling about being late to Daryl's, because the recipe she had chosen was going to take all day to make.

When they had arrived at her home and secured all of the groceries in her cupboards and refrigerator, she offered him a shower while she changed out of her work clothes and picked a movie to put on.

He met her on the couch not too long after, wearing the same cotton pajama pants she had borrowed from him the night she had fallen asleep on his lap in that hotel room. His bare chest was still damp and his hair was tousled from the towel he had used to dry off. He looked refreshed, even as he fell hard into the cushions with a sigh.

"What's this?" he asked, gesturing to the television, but not waiting for an answer before hooking her arm and pulling her onto his lap. She willingly left her solo seat, finding much more comfort in resting against his hard body. He smelled of soap in its most basic form. Not scented with the essence of any botanicals or musk or herbs like all of her products, just clean and Rick. It was the sexiest scent she had ever inhaled and she thought they should bottle him up and sell it to all those boys who liked to spray themselves with faux masculinity.

She was attempting to enjoy her view, but his hands were all over her in an instant and she dropped the remote control and all intentions of doing anything other than him.

"I missed you," she said, her words coming out breathy and weak. The dampness from his hair was leaving wet blotches on her thin t shirt as his head fell to his chest, his hands squeezing her hips to lift her closer to him.

"I missed you, too."

"I know it's late and you're exhausted, but I'm glad you didn't wait until tomorrow to drive up."

"That wasn't even an option," he replied, slipping his hands up her sides and underneath her shirt. She lifted her arms and he pulled the garment over her head, looking pleasantly surprised that she had already removed her bra when she had changed out of her work clothes. He quickly covered her with his mouth, causing her hips to move against him of their own accord.

She tossed her head back as his hands set out to reacquaint themselves with her curves, and her skin relished in the familiar touch she had only been able to fantasize about for five days now. Sometimes when she was without him, with only his voice on the telephone and her own memories, she would try to recreate the feeling of him, but her body knew the difference.

She wiggled out of the shorts she was wearing, and he gripped the flesh of her now bare thighs, lifting her as he stood and placing her on the couch, on her back. His hands moved along his oft travelled path from her hips, to the outside of her thigh, to the inside, always hesitating just long enough for her to object if she wanted to, before finding their destination. She never objected and she didn't now, letting out a small gasp when he touched her, despite the warning.

Whatever television station she had been stuck on when he arrested her attention, suddenly switched to a commercial, and the volume change from quiet dialogue to a zealous choir belting out a jingle, startled them both.

"Are you watchin' this?" he joked, his eyes glinting with building intent.

She shook her head, unable to match his playful tone. "No."

"Good. Let's go to bed."

…

"Fuck, I needed to do that," he groaned as he rolled off of her and flopped face down in the pillow.

She chuckled at his confession, moving to drape an arm over his back, while already matching his prone position. He turned his head to look at her, the warm light of the lamp on her bedside table making her skin look as if it was painted with a gold veneer. His phrasing might have been a little coarse, but once he got a taste of the furious way she got him off, tugging on her hair while he exploded inside of her became his favorite way to bury a stressful day. She didn't seem to mind the admission, as she was stroking her fingers up and down his back tenderly and giving him a contented grin.

"There was no way I wasn't coming here tonight, Michonne." His eyelids were demanding to close, but his sated state left him flooded with the desire to tell her how much his body ached for her on the nights they slept apart, how he wasn't sure he could make it another week when he got in his car to go home on Sunday. "I don't care how exhausted I am. If it's a choice between sleeping alone or sleeping next to you, I'm gonna make the drive."

Her eyes had fallen shut and her hand had moved to a slow crawl, barely finishing its path, but she maintained her lazy smile. A slight hum of agreement slipped from her lips.

"I know it's only an hour," he continued, his thoughts flowing unchecked from his brain to his mouth. "And I'd drive any distance to get to you, but maybe we should think about skipping all that." He pushed off of the pillow, turning in her direction and propping his head on his hand. It was something he'd been thinking about for awhile. Things were good, but he was greedy. He needed more than just a weekly fix of this drug he'd been high on for months. "Move in with me, Michonne. We could do this every night."

Michonne opened her eyes again, looking puzzled, as if she wasn't sure if she had dreamed his question. Her eyes were bouncing around his face as the seconds got more and more uncomfortable. "Rick," she whispered after a few moments, offering him a weak smile. "Let's get some sleep." She kissed him with a finality that landed in his gut like a punch as he watched her roll away to switch off the light.

The sudden darkness caused his eyes to close, but the prospect of sleep had fled from his brain. He should have known, he thought, as he lay there silently chastising himself for running headlong into a wall he was fully aware existed. He'd felt it from the beginning, that gentle counterpressure that she always applied whenever he pulled them forward. At first it was cute, the way she eyed him with suspicion when he professed with utter certainty that this thing with her was it for him, or the bashfulness that overtook her willful demeanor whenever her friends called her out for the adoring way she looked at him. Those looks were what kept him content to let her stroll along behind him, knowing she would meet him where they were headed. But that's not what he saw tonight. Tonight he saw something different. This was the first time her pushback had been strong enough to knock him down, the first time she'd pulled away from him and he wasn't entirely sure she'd be back.

She was breathing softly beside him, feigning sleep as his unanswered proposition settled into the space between them and he turned toward her in the dark, glancing at the back of her head, and started to wonder if he ever really had her at all.

…

Michonne was already showered and dressed by the time Rick woke up the next morning. She was used to rising early every day for work, but his shifts varied so much that he could just as easily wake at sunrise or sleep well past breakfast. That morning he had split the difference, sauntering into the kitchen at 8am. He had thrown on his jeans and socks to guard against the cold tile floor of her kitchen, but he still held his t shirt in his hand as he padded toward her. She regarded his puffy eyes and sleep tossed hair and almost had a complete change of heart at the first sight of him. The man wore mornings well, she mused, but she needed to be stronger than that. Being taken by him in this way is what landed her here, teetering on the edge of who she promised she wouldn't become again.

"Want some breakfast?" she asked casually, holding up a small frying pan filled with egg whites and diced vegetables for him to see. She was faintly hoping the conversation that was simmering beneath their greetings could somehow just evaporate into their normal easy conversation.

"Of course," he said, a smile playing on his face as he acknowledged she was teasing him. "If you make it right."

"This one is mine," she smiled. She pointed to a block of cheddar cheese she had set aside. "I'll make yours the way you like it."

"Thank you." He kissed her cheek before taking a seat at the breakfast nook nestled in front of a tall window that looked out over the heart of the city.

Despite his smile, his lips felt tentative against her skin, distant. She knew it was on his mind that she hadn't answered his question. She'd spent the night dancing with the idea in her head, Rick's words and Olivia's taking turns cutting in to lead a sort of angry Tango with her thoughts.

As soon as he said it, her heart screamed "yes" and woke its sleeping sentry with the sound. Olivia's prediction shone like a spotlight on the attachment she had been secretly forming. Her accusation that she could so easily drop out of the life she had built here and fall into his, was alive in her head and storming toward all of the complicent parts of her brain, ready to admonish them for their weakness.

She loved him and she was letting herself do that the best way she knew how, but right now he was asking a question she had answered wrong in the past and she had come close to doing it again. She watched him gazing out at the tall buildings stabbing the horizon, hard steel slicing through his view of the soft blue, winter sky and he suddenly looked oddly out of place. This place: her home where her name was on the lease, where she was finally living the life she had put on hold for Mike, after clawing her way here alone, two years later than she should have arrived, this was what he was asking her to give up. It felt all too familiar.

"Rick," she said, interrupting what looked like his own rumination on the matter. "Last night...you weren't serious, right? About me moving in with you." She kept her back to him, afraid to watch his reaction. She knew he was serious, but she wanted to give him an out, an opportunity to agree to the absurdity of trying to merge their worlds so soon.

"I was," he said simply. "But, I guess you feel differently about it." He pulled the t shirt he was holding over his head, and sat back to watch her avoid his eyes.

Michonne flipped her omelet out onto a plate and got to work assembling his. She could feel him staring, but now was not the time to get lost in that intense gaze of his. She kept her focus on her task, moving about the kitchen while she spoke. "It just seems a bit illogical."

"Illogical? You sound like you're talking about a math problem, Michonne." He gave her a small chuckle and she found herself bristling at the sound. His unabashed confidence turned her on when he was using it to charm her, but this was the first time they had been at odds and all of a sudden it wasn't so endearing.

"Yes, illogical," she repeated. "That's a giant leap of faith after five months, Rick."

"That's what this is about? I thought we were past all that, Michonne."

"Rick," she sighed. "You know I love you, and I miss you when we're apart, but I have a whole life here."

"And I have a life there, and I want it to include you. You know this is more than a weekend thing." He leaned back in his chair, gesturing casually with his hand as if he was explaining something as simple as the rainfall in the Spring.

"You think everything is so easy, Rick," she muttered, half to herself.

"It was easy until right now." His clear eyes had turned into an icy blue, looking jaded and impatient, and she felt the conversation slipping somewhere they had yet to travel together.

She abandoned his breakfast, placing her palms down on the counter to steady herself, trying to keep her voice even as her irritation rose. "Ok," she said, trying to sound rational, open to a counter argument. Maybe he could enlighten her. "So I'll just give up my condo, my life here, and move into yours, and then what? What if it doesn't work out? You're asking me to put a lot on the line."

"Why are you always sayin' what if it doesn't work out? What if it does?" He pushed his chair out and came to stand at the counter she was working at, dipping his head to force her to meet his eyes. "If anyone should have any doubts it should be me. I've done this before. I know how it could turn out, but I told you I'm not scared. What are you so scared of?"

The comparison irked her. They'd been over this; he knew exactly what she was scared of. "Just because I didn't have a ring on my finger doesn't make my experiences any less valid, Rick. I have reasons for the way I feel, too. Mike…"

"I'm not him," he said, cutting her off before she could finish the excuse he obviously knew was coming. "I think I've proven that."

"No, you're not," she said. She came around the island that separated them and stood in front of him, tipping her chin up toward his face. "You're the opposite, Rick. He dragged his feet and you dive in head first. Whatever happened to making a plan and seeing it through? Looking before you leap? Because if we do this thing, and we don't land where you think we will, I'm the one who loses."

"Ok then, Michonne, what's the plan? I told you we could go at your pace, but you gotta tell me what that pace is. Throw me a bone here. Are we heading where I think we are, or am I wasting my time?"

"Why is figuring that out wasting time?" she asked, her exasperation ringing in her heightened pitch. "You have somewhere else you need to be? You can't wait and see what happens?"

"So, that's what we're doing here? Just seeing what happens?"

"That's not all we're doing, but I'm not like you, Rick. You let your gut guide you. You jump into things because you feel a certain way and maybe that's what I should be worried about. You let your heart make all your decisions, and you've been wrong before."

She saw the impact of her words appear on his face instantly, and she felt herself wince. She hadn't meant it, not that part. His lip curled up ever so slightly, and he nodded, turning his head to refocus his gaze over her shoulder.

"I have been wrong before," he said, sounding as if she'd sucked the air out of his lungs. "That was a big one and I paid for it. I guess I'm still paying for it, if that's what you wanna use as your excuse."

"Rick," she whispered, her stomach churning with remorse.

"No, Michonne look, I say this is right for us, that I know beyond a doubt that this is different, but maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm just foolin' myself again." He stepped past her into the living room and she followed him, her heartbeat ringing in her ears.

"Wait…"

"Wait for what? Wait for you to decide if we have a right to what we have here? Wait to see if there's one more test I have to pass? If you don't want to move in together, that's ok. Really, it is, but you need to tell me what we're doing here." He walked to the front door where his boots were set on the floor and he pulled them on.

"What are you doing?"

"I should go," he said, picking up his overnight bag from where he had dropped it the night before.

"We're supposed to go to Daryl's," she rasped, her throat tightening around the words. She could feel hot tears forming in the corners of her eyes and she turned her head away to keep them from materializing.

"Tell him I'm sorry, alright?" He grabbed his keys from the hook next to hers and clutched them between his whitened knuckles. "You know, at least when Lori left me, she was choosing someone else that made her happy. You? You're trying to choose between being with me and being on your own, like that might be better."

"I'm not leaving you, Rick. That's never what I was saying."

He pulled in a long breath, letting it out through his nose before speaking. "I'm not leaving you either," he said, crossing the few steps between them and dropping a stiff kiss on her cheek. "I'm just going home. I'll call you later."

He turned to leave and the thud of the door closing behind him was like a starting shot to the tears that began to race down her cheeks as she watched him leave. She ambled backwards across the room and fell onto the couch, her heart clenching as it fought to catch up to the fact that he was gone. Less than an hour ago she was sure she was at the edge of a cliff and she needed to pull them both back to safety with a long rope of reason, but she hadn't anticipated that stumbling backwards was just as dangerous. For the first time in her life she had made a move and wound up blindsided by the consequences. Now she was plummeting alone, and alone without Rick was so much more alone than she had ever been before.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Hi all, your reviews on the last chapter have been so kind. Thank you for taking the time to respond to this story in such detail. I truly love hearing your thoughts. Here is part 2.

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 **Winter Days part 2:** "The time will come when winter will ask you what you were doing all summer" - Henry Clay

"Where's Rick?" Daryl asked, immediately upon opening the door.

"Good to see you, too," Michonne answered, passing her sneer off as playful.

Daryl watched her push past him and place the bowl she was carrying on his kitchen counter before shrugging off her coat. "You not answering on purpose?"

"He had to go home. Do you have a serving spoon for this?"

"In that drawer," he answered, pointing across the room.

"Hey, Michonne!" Maggie chirped as she came into the room to greet her. "Where's Rick?"

Daryl's eyes were burning a hole into the back of her head as she dug through his mismatched kitchen utensils, and pretended not to hear Maggie's question. She finally found a large slotted spoon and turned back around to see her friends wearing matching expressions. "You know, it wasn't that long ago you two used to be excited to see me when I showed up," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"That's not an answer," Maggie said.

"We had a...disagreement."

"Shoulda known it was too good to be true," Daryl said, shaking his head under his bangs and crossing his arms over his chest.

"We didn't break up," she sighed, wishing she had just made up an excuse not to come. "You still have your new best friend."

"I'm saying this cause I'm _your_ friend, 'Chonne. Don't fuck this one up."

"Why are you assuming it was my fault?" she asked, sounding more incredulous than she actually was, given the fact that it was completely her fault.

"Because that's what you do. You duck out of the way when something goods about to hit. I really thought this was different. I thought you were gonna let him stick around awhile, but nah, it's startin'. I can already see you making an escape."

"Daryl," Maggie, said softly, "Give us a minute."

"Yeah, alright," he grunted, grabbing the bowl Michonne brought and heading back into the living room. "Sorry, 'Chonne. I really hope you two fix this."

She watched Daryl's back as he retreated out of the room, then went to the refrigerator to help herself to a beer, hoping to dodge Maggie's eyes. "I should just go home," Michonne said, once she was left alone with her friend.

"Don't be silly. There's no need of that."

"I don't feel like going in there and repeating this conversation with everyone else." She gestured to the next room where the rest of the group was laughing and enjoying themselves.

"So don't," Maggie said, throwing an arm around her shoulders and dragging her into the living room. "Hey y'all," she said when they had joined the others. "Michonne's here, she brought food, she didn't bring Rick, don't ask."

The room went quiet, save for the zealous announcers chattering on the TV. Sasha looked back and forth between the two, while Bob kept his eyes mercifully on the television, trying his best to ignore the situation.

"We really don't get to ask?" Glenn asked tentatively. He stood to greet her with a confused grin.

"Shut up and eat, babe," Maggie said, heading to the table to get a plate.

Sasha narrowed her eyes at Michonne, instantly sensing that something was wrong in that watchdog way of hers. "We're talking about this later, Michonne."

"God damned soap opera around here," Daryl interrupted. "I thought you guys came to watch football?"

"Go Tech," Michonne said, pumping a fist in the air listlessly, as she found a spot in Daryl's arm chair to begin her Academy Award performance of an exuberant Yellow Jackets fan. In reality she wasn't seeing a thing that was happening on the screen. All her current headspace was being used to analyze the fact that Rick's absence was already dulling an event she had been looking forward to all week

…

Rick pulled out the last bottle in the case of beer he had been drinking since noon, forcefully popping the cap on the edge of his counter to remove it, and sat down on his couch to turn on the game he was supposed to be watching with Michonne.

His stomach started to rumble, as he remembered the breakfast he had never gotten to eat, and the fact that he had sulked through lunch. He did a mental inventory of his options, coming up short. He had rushed out of the house the previous morning on his way to work and gone straight to Atlanta when his shift had ended. Planning on spending the whole weekend there, he hadn't bothered stocking his refrigerator with any food and now he was out of beer, too. Unfortunately, going to the store to get anything wasn't in the cards, since his liquid diet for the day had left him too buzzed to drive.

He grabbed a pillow from the end of the couch and wedged it behind his head, hoping the ache in his stomach could at least edge out the ache in his chest. His current condition had his brain pondering the expression 'feeling no pain', because despite his inebriated state, he was still feeling every pang of the misery that was taking up residence there.

From the first moment he laid eyes on Michonne he knew she would either be his salvation or his undoing. He had taken the chance anyway, without regard for the consequences, and he thought she was taking it with him, but the doubts she had harbored in the beginning of their whirlwind relationship had suddenly snuck back in, like the bitterness that snuck up on the autumn air and turned it to winter.

He tried to lose his thoughts in the game, focusing on the satisfying, angry crack of the helmets and the cheers from the crowd of people who still found some part of this day to enjoy. He could tell by the first quarter that it was shaping up to be a blow-out though, and his attention strayed. He wondered if Michonne had still gone to Daryl's house, if she was laughing and enjoying her friends, while he sat there applying an alcohol compress to the bruise her words left.

He picked up his phone, contemplating calling her and apologizing for the way he had reacted, ending the whole argument right then and there. The problem was if she was dealing with it better than he was, just going on with her day, he didn't want to interrupt her good time, and he really didn't want to know about it. He scrolled through his contacts and dialed Shane's number instead.

He answered on the first ring and Rick hoped that was an indication that he wasn't busy.

"What's up, man? I thought you were at Michonne's for the weekend," Shane said, the sound of the same game Rick was watching blaring in the background.

"I was, but now I'm not."

"Ok…You wanna swing by? I've got the game on."

"I can't, I've had too much to drink. Why don't you come over here? Bring some food or something."

"Ain't like you to be half in the bag by 4:30." Shane said suspiciously. "Why'd you leave Michonne's?"

"Ain't like you to ask so many questions," Rick fired back. "You coming or what?"

"I'll call in a couple burgers at the place by your house and I'll be over by halftime, ok?"

"Alright, I'll see you then."

As promised, Shane came bearing a full meal just as the marching band took the field on Rick's television screen.

"You didn't tell me you drank _all_ the beer," he grumbled as he rummaged through Rick's near empty fridge, settling for a soda he found in one of the drawers. "Better off anyway, I don't wanna end up sleeping on your couch tonight."

Rick nodded, biting into his burger with all of the zeal of a man who hadn't eaten in almost twenty four hours.

Shane took the seat across from Rick and eyed him over the can of Coke he was sipping from. "So, why're we here, man? What's going on with Michonne?"

"We didn't have a great day," Rick answered, keeping his eyes on the screen.

"What's that mean?"

"It means we had an argument and I came home."

"You gonna tell me what it was about?

Rick continued chewing and watching the men on the screen smash into each other, ignoring Shane's question.

"Mmmhmm," Shane hummed as he regarded Rick's wrinkled t shirt and red rimmed eyes. "And you been sittin' on your ass drainin' your fridge of alcohol since you been back?"

"Something like that."

"Stormin' off's always kinda been my thing, Rick. Gotta say I'm a bit surprised."

"I didn't storm off," he replied, finishing the rest of his burger and moving onto his fries. "I just thought it better if she did her thing without me this weekend."

"I see...you still feelin' like that's best?"

Rick set his food down and leaned back into the couch with a sigh. "Maybe not."

Shane nodded. "Well...it's still early. Why don't you sober up some and go see if you can salvage the rest of your Saturday night."

"Drive back there?" he asked, squinting at his friend.

"Or you could just sit here and wallow all night, but looks to me like you've done enough of that." He gave Rick another once over, gesturing to his disheveled appearance. "Go take a shower, brew some coffee and by the time this game is done you'll feel a lot better."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he said, considering all he had already put on the line today. If he was going to find out he didn't have what he thought he had, he didn't need to go rushing toward that realization.

"Rick, you're shit company right now and I don't know how much of this I can take. Go fix it so I can get back to being astounded by the fact that you pulled a girl like that in the first place."

Rick rubbed at his stinging eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Listening to Shane wasn't something he made a habit of, but he had to admit, he had been trying to put an end to his misery all day and had been unsuccessful. He was the one who left, he thought, at the very least he should make up for that. He pushed off of the couch, taking inventory of the state of his motor skills while he went to start a pot of coffee.

…

The game had ended in an easy win, but no one seemed ready to leave, as Michonne glanced around at her friends, still chatting and drinking in Daryl's living room. She rubbed her puffy eyes and finished her now warm bottle of beer, ready to be done with act two of the tragedy that was her day. Though she was eager to exit this group gathering, the thought of going home to her empty house didn't appeal to her either. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, deciding to text Andrea, the only one of them who hadn't made it to Daryl's, to see if she was up for some company.

" _Are you home? Can I come over?"_

" _My date is dropping me off in fifteen minutes. Meet me there."_

" _Are you sure? I don't want to intrude."_

" _No, it's fine. It'll give me a reason not to invite him up."_

" _You know that's always an option, right?"_

" _Yeah, yeah. 'll see you in a few."_

She shoved her phone away quickly, and stood from the chair she had been slumped in for the last few hours. "I think I'm going to head out," she announced to a chorus of groans and boos.

"Come on, Michonne," Sasha whined. "You don't have to leave. Stay and at least try to have fun."

"I'm not really up for it tonight," she sighed. "It's been a long day and I just want it to be over."

They all gave her varying versions of sympathetic looks and said their goodbyes, while Daryl stood to follow her. "I"ll walk you out," he offered, grabbing a couple empty beer bottles on his way.

"Thanks for comin'," he said, giving her a hug when they reached his front door.

"Thanks for hosting. I'm sorry I wasn't much fun."

"You were never that much fun."

"Cute," she said with a sad smile, her cheeks too tired to fake another happy one.

"Nah, you know I love you." He playfully punched her in the arm before wrapping her in a hug. "But listen, I ain't kidding around. I don't want to see this going the way it always goes with you. You're too good to make yourself miserable."

"Thanks, Daryl," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"You're welcome." He gave her a kiss on the top of her head, then pushed her out the door. "Bring my boy back next time, ya hear?"

"I'm starting to worry about you two."

"Tell him I miss him," he yelled, as she strode down his driveway to her car.

It had only been a few hours since he left but she missed him, too. She had spent the entire afternoon feeling utterly alone in a room full of her closest friends, because the other half of her heart was somewhere else. She wondered where that somewhere was, if he had just gone home or made some other plans to replace their ruined ones. He was looking forward to watching this game, so he probably just found another place to enjoy it, she decided.

She glanced at her phone one more time before putting her car in drive, hoping that it was close to later, the ambiguous time he said he would call. Maybe later was more of a broad expression and she would be forced to float around on this unfamiliar plane of existence indefinitely. It took her by surprise how clashing with him threw her equilibrium off making her feel unsteady on her own two feet.

The drive to Andrea's was short, since she lived on the same side of town as Daryl, but as soon as she got in the car she felt the tears begin to advance upon her again. She did a couple of loops around Andrea's apartment complex, blinking and dabbing at the corners of her eyes to keep them at bay, before finally pulling into a spot beside her building. Making her way up the stairs, she took a deep breath before knocking. She wasn't looking forward to confessing again how she had screwed up the best thing to happen to her in a long time, but she knew once she got past the explanation of why she was there, Andrea would be good for a distraction.

"Hey," Andrea greeted, as she swung open the door and waved her in. She was still wearing tight jeans and a low cut top, but her feet were bare and her hair was hanging in crazy curls as if she had just pulled it down from a more elaborate style.

"Hey. What kind of date ends at 7pm on a Saturday night?" She waltzed into Andrea's kitchen, making herself at home with a bottled water from the fridge.

"We were watching the game," she said as she headed down the hall to her bedroom.

"So you ditched us to watch it with some guy?"

"I did," Andrea called from the next room. "But, I shouldn't have. He was kind of a dud. That's why I'm home." She came back in wearing a sweatshirt and shorts and pulled a bottle of wine down from the shelf above her fridge. Pushing a stack of mail around to make room on the counter, she opened a cupboard to find no clean glasses and decided to wash a couple while they talked.

"Aren't you a well paid corporate attorney?" Michonne asked, watching her shuffle more items out of the way so she could set down her newly clean glass.

"I am. Thank you for remembering."

"Why don't you hire someone to come clean this place once in awhile?"

Andrea ran a dish towel over the glasses and set about pouring two drinks. "Oh, I see," she laughed. "It's going to be one of those nights. Why am I subjected to this on a Saturday night? I thought Rick had you on weekends."

"He left."

"Like _left,_ left?" she asked nervously, pushing a glass across the counter to Michonne.

"No. At least I don't think so. Not yet." She took a sip from her glass and leaned back in her stool. "Let me ask you something, can you picture me wearing cowboy boots?"

Andrea laughed, clamping her lips shut to keep from spitting out her wine. "Did you come here to give me a hard time, or get one?" She peered under the stool where Michonne's feet rested on the bottom rung. "Cause if you traded in those Jimmy Choo's we're gonna have a problem."

Michonne laughed too, the act causing her eyes to water, and before she knew it her laughter had turned into quiet sobs.

Andrea stood with her mouth wide open and her wine glass hovering underneath her bottom lip, the startling sight of Michonne's tears catching her mid sip.

"Are you crying?" she asked, genuinely unsure until Michonne wiped frantically at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I've never seen you cry."

"That's not true," Michonne muttered, sniffing loudly. "I cried when I broke my wrist in fifth grade playing volleyball."

"No, you whimpered. I cried." She walked around the island and took a seat next to her. "What happened, Michonne?"

She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes one more time to get any mascara she had missed. "Rick asked me to move in with him, and I brought up his ex-wife and told him he has made bad decisions before."

"Jesus, Michonne," Andrea exclaimed. "His ex-wife who cheated on him?"

Michonne nodded, feeling the fresh burn of guilt on her cheeks.

"You really don't know how to let someone love you, do you?" Andrea leaned back in her own stool, crossing her arms around her chest and shaking her head.

"I thought I did," she tried to protest. "I was...things were different this time."

"You were doing really well," Andrea agreed. "We were all impressed."

"It was just...Olivia started talking about men like him wanting someone to take care of them and how she could see me giving up my career, and then Rick tried to pay for the groceries…"

"What an ass," Andrea chuckled.

Michonne shot her a sharp look and continued. "OK, but then he asked me to move in with him. He didn't even consider it the other way around. He just assumed it would be me giving up my place, my life, and it just seemed like exactly what Olivia was saying." Michonne sighed at her own retelling of the story. Hearing it out loud had her questioning her ability to freeze up so quickly at one unenlightened comment from a co-worker. "Daryl was right. It was too good to be true."

"First of all," Andrea countered, trying to keep up with the story. "Daryl is never right, and second, I don't know who Olivia is, but if it doesn't come from me or Sasha or Maggie, then it doesn't count." She smiled at her friend, but found her amusement unreturned. "Ok," she continued. "So, if Rick had asked to move into your place, would you have done it?"

"I don't know," she confessed, knowing she was still swimming in the shallow end of this whole dilemma. The length of their relationship, his house or hers, those were excuses. Black and white answers to a grey problem. "It probably doesn't matter anyway. I doubt that it's a possibility anymore. I shot him down pretty hard."

"Oh, Michonne," Andrea sighed. "This can't be what you want."

"It's not," she said, finishing her glass of wine, and helping herself to more. She definitely knew that much. "I didn't handle it well."

"So what did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought he would get it, understand that it wasn't that easy. Or maybe I thought he would somehow convince me, like he always does." She felt her chest tightening as she replayed the conversation over in her head, how quickly it had slipped out of her control. She posed the questions, and he worked out an answer; that's how it was with them, but this time she had questioned Rick himself, his judgement, his heart. She had no right to do that, but he hadn't even given her a chance to take it back. She let out a short sigh of frustration, turning back to Andrea with a frown."I certainly didn't think he was going to leave," she said. "But that's exactly what happened, after all the promises and assurances, he still walked right out the door."

"No," she said, shaking her head at the suggestion. "It's not the same and you know it. He's coming back. But maybe Michonne, did you ever think that you always know how things are going to go, because you're the one writing the ending?"

Michonne was quiet for a few minutes, accepting the admonishment. "Maybe I was trying to take back some sort of control," she admitted. "I've been following his lead this whole time and it just hit me all of a sudden, how deep I was in." She brought her hands to her temples, trying to motivate her brain to work its way out of this confusion. She had convinced herself she was fighting to keep ahold of something when she had turned him down, but the second he shut the door behind him, she knew everything she should have been trying to hold onto was on the other side. "The truth is," she sighed, "when he first said it, I got this feeling in my stomach that felt so right, and it scared me how much I wanted the thing I was supposed to be afraid of. Being attached, depending on someone else; I realized I wanted that with Rick...but then Olivia's prediction came back to haunt me, and all of a sudden I was afraid of what that meant."

Andrea nodded knowingly, Michonne's self awareness both impressing her and leaving her to wonder how, despite knowing exactly what road she was on, she still couldn't navigate it. "You two have been going full steam ahead since the day you met," she said after a few moments of quiet. "That's not something you're used to and I can see why it would be unnerving, but frankly Michonne, he's been towing the line, while you've been enjoying the ride. You haven't had to put any skin in the game yet. If this is what you want, it's your turn to prove it. I'm not saying you have to take him up on the offer, but you've got to do something."

Michonne swirled her last sip of wine around in her glass, considering her friends words and the misery she had tried to avoid, yet was currently presiding over. Any indignation she had been claiming was replaced by a sinking feeling of remorse as she pictured Rick's face when he walked out the door. He looked defeated, finally, by her constant challenge, and she wanted desperately to forfeit this win and just be on his side for good. "I know you're right," she said, quietly. "I just hope I still have that chance."

"I know you do," Andrea promised, giving her a confident smile, "and you do too. This one is different."

Michonne looked down at her phone again, hoping that despite the fact that she had it in her hand all night, she had somehow missed a call or text from Rick, but instead of the blinking light she hoped to find, all she saw was a drained battery indicator taunting her from the corner of her home screen. "Can I use your charger?" she asked Andrea, hopping down from her stool and heading in the direction of the outlet where she knew it would be.

"You can try, but I don't think it will fit. I got a new phone; work finally switched us all over to Iphones."

Michonne fiddled with the cord, trying her hardest to will the tiny end to fit into the wider port on her work issued Samsung. "Damn it," she cursed, feeling as though the waning block of energy displayed on her phone was a perfect metaphor for her current stamina for continuing the day. "I should go." She moved to the counter to retrieve her purse.

"Uh uh," Andrea said, shaking her head. "I'm not letting you drive across town with no cellphone after a bottle of wine. Sleep here, we'll order a movie and chat like our college days."

"We couldn't afford to order movies in college," Michonne chuckled. "We had to steal your boyfriend's Netflix password."

"Well, we've finally made it, Michonne. Come on, we'll even spring for HD."

Michonne glanced one more time before it finally gave up on her, 8pm. Rick had all day to call her, she surmised, he probably wouldn't do it now, and she didn't relish the thought of sleeping in her bed tonight, knowing he was supposed to be there with her. "Fine," she agreed. "Have you changed the sheets in the guest room lately?"

"I'm sure I must have at some point."

"I'll take the couch," she decided, knowing that sleep would be an unlikely occurrence this night anyway.

 **...**

Rick took a sip from the large styrofoam cup of black coffee he had ordered at the first place he saw, once he passed the city line, where the drive-thrus were still open at 9pm. He was twenty minutes out from Michonne's condo he figured, since the traffic would be light this time of night.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say when he got there. He would apologize for leaving, he knew that much, but the rest of the conversation still sat in a lump in his throat. He wanted to forget about what she had said, chalk it up to a weak moment, but he wasn't convinced Michonne experienced weakness. He had never seen it and he'd certainly never heard that tone of voice from her before. She was angry and, even though he was more hurt, he was angry too. The combination unnerved him, that's why he figured he shouldn't try to have this conversation over the phone. It was too easy to say things you didn't mean when you didn't have to look into the other person's eyes, and he only wanted to hear the truth from her right now, whatever it might be.

He glanced down at the clock again, hoping his unheralded arrival wouldn't piss her off further. When he finally turned into the parking lot of her row of condos, his eyes went to her assigned spot first, hoping to take the spot beside her, and he was instantly struck by an unexpected feeling of melancholy when he saw it empty. He pulled his truck over to the side, scanning the other spaces, hoping that maybe she had just parked somewhere else for whatever reason his desperate brain could conjure. When he didn't see her vehicle, his shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand over his tired eyes. He had convinced himself, with Shane's help, that she was just as upset about their argument as he was, and she was likely home stewing over it the same as him. She wasn't a big partier; at this hour on a Saturday night when he wasn't there, he truly expected her to be home, whether she was upset or not.

Maybe she was still at Daryl's, he figured, with an attempt at hopefulness. The game had been over for two hours, but all of her friends were going to be there, they could still be together. Giving up on his previous aversion to their next contact being by phone, he picked up his cell from the dash and his fingers dialed her number before he even fully made the decision. He heard her voicemail chime in immediately and he hung up, tossing the phone back at the passenger seat with the full force of his disappointment, and watching it bounce to a lonely spot on the floor.

Running a hand through his hair, he tried to calm his nerves. It was still early by most people's standards. He pulled his truck into his usual spot and turned off the engine, the cold air rushing the cabin as soon as the heat stopped blowing. He would wait.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing this story. I love you all. Here is part 3.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **Winter Days part 3:** Apricity: the warmth of the sun in the winter

The leather headrest in Rick's truck had turned icy cold against his cheek, stinging his skin and rousing him from the shallow, dreamless sleep he had slipped into. Despite the extra large, black coffee he finished the drive with, he had succumbed to the quiet darkness around him, and woke to frost forming on the outside of his windows and the night handing over its last hour.

Michonne's parking spot was still barren beside him, he noted with a quick glance. He knew it would be; if she had arrived home at some point during his dozing, she would have seen him. At least none of her neighbors had seen him sleeping in his truck in the parking lot and called the cops, he thought. The whole scenario was starting to feel more and more asinine, and it was becoming clear that he was the ass.

He ran a hand over the chilled skin of his face, blowing out an exasperated breath that materialized before him. Leaning over the center console, he reached around in the dark for his phone, and found it still sitting on the floor where he had thrown it. He flipped it over in his hand a few times, trying to decide if he had anymore of his pride left to put on the line, before giving in and dialing her number.

"Hey, Michonne," he croaked, when he heard her voicemail pick up. His voice was raspy and raw and he cleared his throat of any audible weakness before continuing. "It's me. It's about one a.m. I've been here more than a few hours now and I guess you aren't coming home tonight." He paused, letting his eyes slip closed as he ran through all of the various reasons for her to be out all night, trying to pick the one he wanted to believe in when he chose his next words.

"I was hoping to see you," he sighed. "So we could talk about everythang... but your cell is off and you're not here. Look, Michonne, I'm sorry I left. I shouldn't have. Just...call me tomorrow, please. Let me know you're safe...I love you."

He ended the call, this time setting his phone on the dash where he could reach it if she called back, and hesitantly started his truck. Leaving now somehow felt like another retreat, but he was ready to end this exercise in futility. He gave the engine a few moments to warm up, before turning on the defroster to clear his windshield. Futility was starting to feel like the theme of their entire five months as he played over her words again and again. Figuring things out, seeing what happens-he never would have described what they were doing in such tentative terms, but she had used them, right before she suggested he might be prone to the type of emotional naivety that could bring them both down.

His head started to ache from his vacillating thoughts, tossing between staying and going, being scared and being angry. He slammed the palm of his hand onto the steering wheel in frustration, losing patience for his own inability to make the right call with her. Maybe he should bear the cold and wait it out a few more hours, make sure she was safe. Maybe he should go inside and sit by her door until she walked back in, so he could see for himself where she was. Maybe he shouldn't have come at all.

He was adamant that he wanted to see the truth in her eyes when they spoke again, but now her absence had him wondering if whatever she had to say might be too much up close. He knew the face of a woman who had changed her mind; he had already seen it once in his life, he didn't need to see it on her.

He put his truck in gear, pulling out of the parking lot and down the deserted road toward the highway. Glancing at the quiet houses and apartment complexes, darkened in what was now the early hours of the morning, he thought about how he was supposed to be holding her right now, feeling her head resting on his shoulder as they breathed the same air. But he was here, barely breathing at all, and she was somewhere else, without him. He pushed the pedal down, eager to make it home and put an end to his ability to make any more decisions by finally shutting his eyes and accepting the respite of sleep.

...

Michonne pushed through the door of her condo, twisting and wrenching her keys from the often sticky lock that she had yet to find the time to fix. She finally freed them, tossing them on the table with a loud jingle, and shut the door behind her.

It was the time of year where she had to put the heat on when she woke up, to take the chill out of the early morning air, but she hadn't been home to do it, or to leave a light on for her return, and the house felt frigid and dreary in its greeting. Or maybe it was just Rick's marked absence that suddenly had her feeling like she was walking into a void instead of her own home. She pondered the irony of that possibility as she dropped her coat and switched on a table lamp.

She was desperate for some coffee after a long, sleepless night, so she headed to the kitchen, pausing at the small work station she had set up in one corner of her dining room. First things first, she thought, digging her phone out of her purse and connecting it to the white cord sticking out of the wall near her laptop. She knew Rick probably wouldn't be up yet, but she had made it out of Andrea's and back home by 7 a.m. so she could have a fully charged battery when he finally called. A night of quiet contemplation, staring at the ceiling from Andrea's couch, had convinced her that he would call, like he said he would, and she would fix this.

She powered on her phone and moved to the kitchen to make her coffee, when she heard the familiar double beep of a voicemail as the device sprang to life. She dropped the bag, dashing to check her message, hoping he _was_ up already, maybe feeling the same about their night apart, and they could deal with this right then and there.

Her eyes rolled shut in relief the second she heard his drawn out inflection playing through the speaker, his familiar greeting like an antidote to the poison that had been injected into their happy existence. Relief turned to regret, however, as his message wore on.

An image of Rick sitting in his truck, waiting for her and wondering where she was sleeping, lodged itself in her brain and she wasn't sure whether to curse or to cry. She dropped into the chair beside her computer, rubbing her temple with her free hand as she listened. He had come back; apologized for leaving even after she said what she said. Despite the defeat and exhaustion winding their way through his drawl as he spoke, he ended his message with an earnest 'I love you', proving yet again that he wasn't going to let her fear ruin this for them.

Her finger swept to the return call button before the last syllable of his message was finished, waiting anxiously to hear his voice live, so she could settle the uneasiness she heard there, but her shoulders began to fall with each unanswered ring.

"That's it," she muttered to herself, hanging up before the end of his recorded greeting. Andrea was right, it was time for her to meet him where he patiently waited. He'd been the one to bear the brunt of her poor behavior, and still he'd come back. This was her opportunity to show him that she could take the forward step for once. He'd sat in front of her door all night just to make things right between them, and she was going to finish the job.

She rushed around her condo, gathering a couple necessities and taking a brief, unsatisfying glance in the mirror. No time to change, she thought, deciding just to quickly brush her teeth and gather her locs in a ponytail. Pocketing her phone and her charger, and slipping on her jacket, she rushed back out to her car.

The drive to Rick's house always renewed her. The sharp angles and assiduous streets of the city invigorated her- a constant flow of energy capturing her pulse and rushing her blood like a shot of adrenaline whenever she breathed the well shared air, but there was something about watching the open sky slowly reclaim the horizon as she sailed away from the city limits. It massaged her shoulders and loosened her smile, soothing senses she didn't realize she possessed, until this became a regular commute.

After a mostly solitary Sunday morning drive, spent crafting a grand apology in her head, she steered her car toward her favorite exit. The day had finally pushed through its muddled early morning state, and a white winter sun was pointing out all of her familiar landmarks, including the old wooden sign that marked the line to King County. Its faded paint and scripted letters were a harbinger to their weekly reacquaintance. This was where her face usually broke into a smile of its own accord, and her skin got that familiar tingle at Rick's proximity. Giddiness- it was another emotion she had only ever experienced with him. Sometimes her cheeks would actually start to hurt from all of the beaming smiles he coaxed from her. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy life before him; she was a generally happy person, maybe a little serious from time to time, but she had quickly learned how impossible it was to contain the type of expressions that bubbled up from your soul. On this particular drive though, her heart was racing out of desperation rather than excitement, each beat pleading with her tongue to find whatever words she could to make the ache disappear.

From a short block away, she noticing his silver pickup truck was parked slightly askew in his driveway, as if he had put little care into its position when he arrived here in the dark of the early morning. Once she reached his house, she pulled into the spot behind him and also noticed his porch light was still on, an indication that he probably hadn't made it out of bed yet. She walked to the door anyway, sorry to have to wake him after being the reason for his late bedtime, but unwilling to wait any longer to see him.

The bright light behind her offered her a reflection of herself in the tall sidelight window to the right of his door, and she ran her hands over her wrinkled, slept in, henley and jeans. Cupping her hand above her eyes, she peered inside hoping maybe she was wrong and she would find him awake, absolving her of the crime of ringing his doorbell at this hour.

To her surprise though, she spotted Rick asleep on the couch, still in his clothes and with a bent arm resting over his eyes. The sight brought a new wave of heat to her cheeks, as she pondered whether he had landed there in anger, or frustration or just exhaustion. She tipped her head to the porch ceiling, trying to keep her tired eyes from spilling, to no avail. She rubbed at her tears, banishing them from her already raw cheeks, and ran the back of her hand under her nose, sniffing loudly to clear her passageways. With a deep breath, she brought a fist to the wooden door, rapping twice with her knuckles and waited.

She heard him shuffling around, the floorboards creaking as he crossed the room. Finally, the door swung open and he appeared to her, squinting at the morning light through puffy lids, a look of both surprise and relief coloring his face.

"Hi," she whispered, feeling like her voice would crack if she gave it any more volume.

"Hey." He hovered in the doorway, his hands hanging restlessly at his sides, like he was weighing his option to touch her.

"Rick," she managed, before her emotions seized her again without warning. She stepped toward him, clutching at the soft flannel of his shirt and burying her face in his chest.

Rick wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a tentative embrace, while kissing and shushing away her tears. It was as if he was warring between an equal desire to hold her accountable or to just hold her, and his body couldn't choose a side. "Did you get my message?" he finally asked, easing her out of his arms, so he could look at her.

"Yes," she said, gathering herself together. "You were there all night?"

"Most of it." He ran a thumb along his brow as his eyes flitted to the ground between them. "Where'd you go?"

She watched him attempt to steel his jaw in preparation for whatever her answer was and the hint of fear in his voice caused the back of her throat to burn with guilt. She brought her hands to his stubbled cheeks, trying her best to assure him with her eyes.

"Andrea's," she said. "You were supposed to be at my house and I just didn't want to be there without you." She sighed at the recognition of yet another irony, given that the entire ordeal started with Rick asking to put an end to nights like that for good. "My phone died," she continued, "I just got your message this morning. I called you, but you didn't answer...so I just came." She watched him watch her, as her story tumbled from her mouth, bating her breath as she searched for some sign of where they stood.

"I must have slept through it," he said quietly, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers. "I'm glad you came."

"Rick, I'm sorry," she croaked, swallowing another crying jag.

"Me too," he said on an outward breath. She saw his shoulders visibly settle in relief at her words, and he stepped backwards into his foyer, letting his hand trail down her back and rest in its rightful place on her hip, as he ushered her in.

"I didn't mean what I said, Rick." She followed him to the couch, dropping into the seat beside him and reaching for his hand. "I had no right to hold your past over your head, while I was still sorting through mine."

He nodded in that introspective way he had; the one that always left her with the impression that he could figure out all of the world's problems if given the chance. "Well, I'm sorry I left," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have walked out like that. That's not how I want things to be between us, but for the first time it started to feel like you and I weren't doing the same thing, Michonne. I don't know what to say to you to make you see that this is different. It is for me." He was looking at her with a sort of exhausted misery that made her gut hurt and she wanted so badly to calm the storm brewing in his deep, blue eyes.

"I do see it, Rick" she said, squeezing his hand to convey the force of her promise. "I know exactly what this is and that's what scares me. I can't keep you at arm's length like I'm used to, because you're already here." She tapped her clenched fist to her heart and offered him a smile.

"When you asked me to move in with you, I had to admit that to myself and my first inclination was to fight it, to get hung up on some stupid logistical issue that I could explain. Instead of accepting that this had worked out for me, I convinced myself this must be the part where it all comes crashing down. I thought that I had to give something up to have you, and I've just...I've been there before."

"I know that you have," he said, struggling to keep the frustration from his voice, "and that's not what this is. I don't want you to give up anything, Michonne. I only thought it made more sense for you to move in here because you were renting your place. That's all."

"Of course it makes more sense," she said. "This whole thing played out in my head. I see that now. I saw it as soon as you walked out the door. I was wrong." She closed her eyes, remembering how she had been so quick to dismiss her own understanding of who this man was, and replace it with an easier version.

Rick sighed heavily, leaning back into the couch and running his hand over his face. "Well, you were right about some of it," he offered. "I told you we could go at your pace and I meant that. I was rushing you after I said I wouldn't."

"You weren't rushing me, Rick, you were pushing me along, just like you have been this whole time and I needed it." She paused to take ahold of his other hand, pulling until he was sitting up, facing her. This was it, she thought, her turn to show some courage. Being here, seeing for herself what he was offering her, made her want to jump from whatever height he wanted her to as long as she landed with him. She took a deep breath and channeled every brave decision he'd ever made on their behalf into her words. "I want this Rick," she said, "and I don't want to keep holding us back...ask me again."

Rick's lips parted in surprise, his eyes dancing around her face before dropping downward to their joined hands. She heard it in his hesitation, her own reluctance had taken root in him, and her heart sank. His thumb was tracing the peaks of her knuckles and he studied the path he was making for what seemed like an eternity before he finally brought his eyes back to hers. "I will, Michonne," he whispered, regret hushing the tone of his voice, "...but not today. I can't wake up one morning and find you changed your mind too. That's the thing that scares me. So, I'm gonna give you more time."

Michonne swallowed hard, nodding in response. She deserved that, she thought, and deep down she knew he was right. She understood where she had gone wrong, how to get where she wanted to be, but she hadn't proven that to him yet, and they couldn't move forward together until she did. "So where do we go from here?" she asked him, her throat feeling tight around her words.

"Back to where we were two days ago, I guess." He leaned back into the couch again, pulling her with him and pressing his lips to her forehead. "We'll go back to being happy, and we'll just stay there until the next step."

"Can we do that?" she asked nervously, tipping her chin to look up at him.

"I can," he assured her with a small grin. "You know I've been waiting on you since day one Michonne, and I'll keep doing it. Now, I know that's a lot to put on you, so if you're ever feeling like you need a break..."

"I'm done taking breaks," she said firmly. She brought a hand to his cheek, running her fingers along his jaw. "I'm still with you, Rick. I'm going to show you I want this too."

"Ok," he agreed, turning his face against her hand to press his lips to her palm.

She settled into his embrace, contemplating how to make good on her promise, when she remembered another intention. "I brought you something," she said suddenly, pushing away from him and reaching into the back pocket of her jeans. She opened her palm, revealing a small silver key, and his lips curled into a bright grin. "I was thinking, maybe we could work some weeknights into our schedule. You could come up when you get off of an early shift, or I could maybe work from home more often, so I could get a later start...I mean, if that's something you still want."

He took the key, gripping it in his hand as he kissed her cheek. "Of course I do," he assured her, before standing to cross the room. He picked up his brown, shearling lined jacket from the chair where he had tossed it the night before, pulling his keys out of the pocket and working one of them off of the ring. "I think that's a great idea," he said as he handed it to her.

Michonne turned the small metal token over in her fingers with a smile, before putting it in the pocket where she had found hers. He returned to the seat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and tipping her chin up toward him. "I don't want to do this again," he said, kissing her softly while he stroked her tear stained cheek with his thumb.

"Me either." She kissed him back, letting her eyes close as she relished the feel of finally being back in his arms. "I love you," she whispered against his lips.

His hand slid down to her throat, massaging her pulse point, as his tongue eagerly parted her lips. "I love you, too."

The chaste tenor of their embrace turned more desperate as she found herself clutching him against her, seeking to cancel any distance between them.

Rick slipped his arm around her waist, deftly maneuvering her to a straddle across his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself flush to his chest. Her fingers toyed with the curl of his hair as he tasted her like it was the first time. "We should go back to bed," she whispered when his mouth began to travel downward. "It's still early."

He chuckled knowingly into her neck- it would be awhile before either of them got any more sleep. "Alright," he agreed, grasping the back of her thighs and standing in one fell swoop.

He carried her to his room, dropping her in the middle of his bed and watching her kick off her shoes. He unbuttoned his shirt to remove it, gesturing with his chin for her to do the same. She pulled her shirt over her head as he stared at her with an intensity that used to cause her to fidget nervously whenever he would trap her in it. Now, she reveled in it, setting herself firmly in his sights and waiting to be beamed into him. He let the garment drop to the floor, then moved to cover her naked torso with his own, but she gave him a smile, placing her palms on his chest to stop him. He raised an eyebrow at her, searching her eyes with apprehension. "What's wrong?"

"You lay down," she said, knowing he was going to argue. Rick liked to take the lead, but today she was feeling emboldened by her own emotional bravery.

He gave her a cocky smirk and dropped his mouth to her chest, attempting to persuade her to let him keep going. She shook her head firmly, wiggling away from him, and he finally rolled onto his back, doing as she asked with an exaggerated sigh. "Come here," he ordered, reaching out his arms for her.

She stood from the bed, ignoring his command and his slick effort at maintaining control, despite his passive position. He tracked her every movement as she unzipped her pants, stepping out to reveal a pair of cotton, bikini cut underwear. They weren't exactly the sexy lingerie she usually wore for him, having had no time to prepare herself, but the look on his face when she slid them off, showed he wasn't concerned . She crawled back onto the bed, straddling his hips again and arched her back to kiss and nip at his solid stomach. "I missed you last night," she purred as she slowly unbuckled his belt.

"Me too, baby," he said through hitched breath. He kept a lock on her with his gaze as she unzipped him, then curled her fingers around the waistband of his jeans to slide them down his legs.

Rick grabbed at the tops of her thighs, not appreciating the limited access she was affording him, but he was quickly subdued when she slipped her hand into his boxers, taking ahold of him with a conviction that had him both questioning and thanking her with his eyes.

"Let me make up for it." she said, sliding down so her mouth could join her already repentant hands.

"Jesus, Michonne," he growled. "I know I said I don't want to fight anymore, but if this is makin' up…"

She giggled around him, the sensation causing him to grip at the sheets beneath his idle hands and suck in a sharp breath.

Rick was impatient with his own pleasure, typically leaving her little time to reciprocate his attentiveness, after he skillfully took care of her one way or another. He would tend to skip over this part if he was directing them, ever eager to be inside her. Unfortunate for him, she thought confidently. He was about to find out what he had been denying himself.

Pausing for just a moment, she peered up at him with a smile. "You okay?" she taunted.

"I'm good," he ground out, chancing a glance at her as she resumed her task.

Michonne rolled her eyes playfully as he lifted his hips to meet her, amused by the fact that he was still unable to completely cede control. She reached up to push her palm firmly against his chest and hold him in place, but he grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth, lightly biting at her fingers.

"You're going to regret that," she teased, letting her bottom lip linger on him as she spoke.

He laughed at her threat, tugging gently on her arm. "You gonna come join me?"

He asked so politely that she decided to give him a break. With a parting kiss, she moved back up his body, letting him pull her firmly against him. She could feel him shifting his weight, readying his grip to pull her beneath him. Unwilling to give in to him so quickly, she repositioned her hips, pushing against his shoulder for leverage and sunk down onto him without warning. "I'm here," she whispered against his ear, as he stuttered out a few curse words.

She sat up straight, allowing him to roam her taut stomach and soft breasts with his hands, and squeeze the thick flesh of her hips as she moved above him. His eyes traveled every inch of her, obviously finding this unobstructed view to his liking, but his grip was indulgent, needy as he massaged all the places he could reach.

"I thought you weren't keepin' me at arm's length anymore?" he said with a little pout. His hand came to rest between them, attempting to coax her back into submission with his fingers, and he didn't fail. As much as she was enjoying this rare moment of power, he was good at what he did and she was bad at resisting him.

He pushed up with his other hand to sit with her legs wrapped around his waist, and he continued to convince her that her time being in charge was up. God, he could sway her like no other, she thought. That's what she had been so afraid of in the first place. But after being forced to come to terms with the hold he had over her, and finally realizing she could trust him with it, it only seemed to get stronger. At the current moment it was almost overwhelming. He looked into her eyes as he worked, silently commanding her to fall and she did. She breathed out his name, bookended by tiny whimpers and he caught every ounce of her surrender.

She fell contentedly against his chest and he dipped his chin to kiss the top of her head. He continued to pump slowly upward, holding her hips in place and denying her any reprieve while she tried to rest against him.

"You gonna let me do this now?" he asked, his words slightly muffled by her hair. She barely eked out a nod before he flipped her onto her back and crushed his mouth against hers. She reached up to cup his face, but he gathered her wrists in his hand, pinning them above her head. Her mouth curled into a grin against his kiss as she remembered why she usually let him have his way.

Leaning on his forearm to keep the distance between them minimal, he pushed back in with a force that had been brewing since her initial play for the upper hand. She could feel the power she had attempted to tame come unleashed as he moved above her, and she dug her heels into the mattress to steel herself.

"You ok?" He mimicked her with a playful glint in his eye, and she met his question with a devilish smile. "Good," he said, taking her expression as an affirmative. His face turned serious then, as his thrusts became more erratic. "Tell me you're mine, Michonne."

She knew he needed to hear it. Now, when she was open and exposed beneath him and their bodies were so close that a lie could never fit between them. His eyes were begging for a promise, a confession, something he could feel from the inside. "I'm yours, Rick," she replied. She slipped her fingers into his hair, pulling lightly, and looked at him with all of the devotion and resolution she could convey. "I'm right here."

With that he was finished, a drawn out expletive punctuating the eruption of his return pledge that he left deep within her. He collapsed on top of her, the exhaustion of the last twenty four hours leaving him spent in her arms as she rubbed at his back, and shoulders, and hips. His body was solid, like an armour around her and she closed her eyes, dwelling again on how she could have second guessed that her only real home was wrapped around him.

He shifted slightly, freeing her from his weight, but keeping her pinned under his arm as he used what looked like all of his remaining strength to cover her shoulder with lazy kisses. She glanced at the window, determining from the light in his room that the morning was still very young for a weekend.

"We should get some more sleep," he said, as if reading her mind.

"We should," she breathed out in a yawn.

His eyes were barely slits as he reached down with one hand and pulled his comforter up around them. He tucked it up to her chin, sliding his arm underneath it to cradle her hip, possessively. Imminent sleep deepening his accent the way she adored, he whispered into her ear, "I'm right here, too."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N So it took me 84 years to write the last chapter, but only a couple hours for this one, so here ya go! Thanks for your reviews, especially all of the super long ones for the last chapter! Perma-smile over here.

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 **Winter Days part 4:** "Come a little close baby, I feel like strippin' it down. Back to the basics of you and me, and what makes the world go round." -Dierks Bentley

"I'm glad you stayed," Rick said, running his fingers along Michonne's back as she rested her sated body atop of his. The fact that she'd suggested it made him even more pleased. After a Sunday spent making up for Saturday, they'd decided to take Monday to rest.

"Me too," she agreed. "I don't think I've taken a sick day in years." She pushed herself to her knees, dropping one more kiss onto his chest, before dragging herself out of his bed.

"I'm not sure I ever have," he said, scanning his fifteen year career for a time when he might have played hooky. "I took a couple personal days during my divorce, but I don't think I've ever called in for being sick, or pretending to be." He smirked at her from his pillow, trying to catch any guilt she might be feeling, so he could tease her for it, but she seemed unfazed.

"I'm not surprised," she said, obviously in her own playful mood. "Shane does refer to you as The Golden Boy."

"That's true," Rick smiled. "I guess he deserves to be sitting in a car with Leon for twelve hours. Thanks for remindin' me."

He watched her cross the room, studying the sway of her hips as she made her way to the bathroom. She opened the drawer in his vanity, finding the toothbrush she kept at his house and set about her morning routine, remaining casually bare as she moved about before him. "So just out of curiosity," she asked, before filling her mouth with bubbles. "If I did want to get some work done when I'm here, where would I do that?"

Rick propped himself up in his bed, stealing her pillow to make himself more comfortable. "Well, I have two extra bedrooms. I could move some stuff around, make you an office space."

She turned over her shoulder to look at him, smiling around her toothbrush. "Yeah?"

"Sure," he said with a shrug, happy they were even talking about it. The day before he hadn't been so sure they would be.

After she rinsed her mouth and wrapped her hair atop her head in a more manageable bun, she came back to where he lay, crawling across the mattress to put her minty fresh breath to good use. "I need some clothes," she smiled, kissing along his jaw as she spoke.

"You don't really," he replied, reaching over to cup her breast as she hovered beside him.

She covered his hand with hers, pulling it up to her lips to kiss his knuckles. "I'm hungry, Rick. We can't stay under these covers all day, and it's cold."

"Top drawer," he relented, nipping at her shoulder as she rolled away from him. "You'll find some t-shirts in there."

She pulled herself away for the second time that morning, walking to his dresser and running a hand along the smooth wood, before opening the drawer. Rick reluctantly followed her out of bed, searching the floor for his boxers.

"I should probably leave a bag here in the future," she said. "In case we want to do this again. I can't walk around all day in just your t-shirts."

"Says who?" he joked, turning to watch her sort through her options. She held up a plain white undershirt, before pulling it over her head. "You can just take a drawer, Michonne. Leave whatever you want."

"An office and a drawer?" she simpered.

"I should be able to spare it," he joked. "I don't have a big wardrobe." He wandered over to where she stood, wrapping his arms around her waist and settling his mouth in the crook of her neck, as she continued to dig through his clothes for something to put on her bottom half. She pulled a pair of cotton boxer shorts out of the back of the drawer, knocking a little black box out of the way in the process.

She picked up the velvet container, turning it around in her fingers. "Rick…"

He pulled his head away from his task, the corner of his mouth turning up when he saw what she was holding. She turned around in his embrace, looking at him with saucer sized eyes as she opened the box.

"When you asked me to move in, were you going to…"

"No," he smiled, letting her go and backing up a few steps until he was seated on the bed. "Not yet."

She stared at the princess cut diamond, wrapped in a platinum, filigree setting, and then back up at him with confusion.

He reached his arm out to her, beckoning her to come closer, and she did, taking a seat on his lap and handing him the box. "This was my mother's ring," he explained. "Came to me when she died."

"Was it Lori's too?" Michonne asked, still examining the jewel.

"No. Lori tried to give me hers back after the divorce, but I didn't want it. I told her to keep it, pawn it. Whatever she wanted." He took the box from her, running his thumb over the band. "My mother was still wearing this one when I proposed to Lori," he said, staring at the ring with a fond look in his eye. "But she wouldn't have wanted it anyway."

"Why do you say that?" Michonne asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow at him.

"I had my grandmother's ring at the time. Had been in my family for generations. She knew about it; made a point to tell me she wasn't interested. Said I needed to pick one out that would be just hers, so I did. "

"You're kidding." Michonne studied him as she took in the tale, looking as if she was waiting for a punchline.

"I wish I was," he chuckled. "First time I ever went into debt for something. I was twenty-four; I had no business buying a ring like that, or this house for that matter, but at least I'm getting better use out of the house. My brother's wife ended up with my grandmother's ring, and I'm glad. She deserves it."

Michonne nodded, running her fingers over the band of the ring, and then his hand. "I think it's gorgeous."

"Yeah? You'd wear it then?" he asked, his mind tumbling from that image to a lifetime of complementary ones. "Cause it'll be yours one day, if I get what I want."

"I would be honored to wear it one day, Rick."

Her glistening eyes told him it wasn't placation or guilt over their still fresh argument talking, and he dared to fantasize a little bit further, picturing her in a long white gown, her hair swept away from her neck. He handed the box back to her and fell backwards onto the bed. "One day," he said, watching her carefully set the box back in his drawer and step into the shorts she had stolen. He was pretty sure if she had found it a few days prior, he would have put it on her finger right then. But it was better this way, he thought. There was a new honesty between them now and he took comfort in the fact that, through this impasse, he got to know her a little better, enough that when he finally did give her that ring, he would be sure he would never have to watch her take it off.

"Are you going to feed me, or what, Grimes?" she asked, jostling his wandering thoughts back to the moment. She bounced onto the bed next to him, crossing her legs at the knee and letting her feet swing off of the bed. "And I don't want pizza again."

Rick chuckled at their less than nutritious meal plan the day before, neither one wanting to leave his bed, yet the trouble of Rick's empty fridge ruining their plan, and forcing them to order from the one take out place in town. "You wanna go out looking like that?" he said, gesturing to the oversized, v-neck t-shirt, which was leaving her almost completely exposed. "I mean, I don't mind…"

"No," she pouted. "I guess I can put my clothes back on."

"How about you stay just like that, and I'll run out to the store real quick? Just tell me what you want."

"My choice?" she smiled, moving to get settle back into bed.

"Within reason." He went to the drawer she had just been rummaging through and pulled out a t shirt for himself, then looked around for his jeans. "No kale sandwiches or anything like that."

"Deal." Michonne grabbed a pillow, propping it under her head and gave him a smile. "I'll make you a list and then I'll wait right here."

…

Rick pocketed the grocery list Michonne had made and kissed her goodbye, leaving her alone with her thoughts for the first time since she had arrived to make amends. Any tension between them had been massaged, or kissed or slept away over the previous twenty four hours, and now they were back to their usual easy banter and excessive, indulgent touching that she craved. She spent many nights away from Rick, hopefully less now, but the most recent one was further away than she ever wanted to be again.

She padded through his house, taking in the rooms with new eyes after a weekend of changing hearts and views. She had denied, then been denied the chance to make this her home, and being alone there finally gave her the opportunity to think about what that meant in real terms. She had spent plenty of time here and, even though she had bucked it away on instinct, being surrounded by Rick and his things already felt comfortable and familiar. The black and white faces of his parents adorning the mantel, though in need of dusting, were already imprinted in her mind as if she had known them herself, and the soft throw blanket on the back of his couch, that smelled like his cologne from the many nights he spent lounging under it, was already a favorite item of hers.

His bathroom could use a little decorating, she thought as she passed the empty little room off of the kitchen that she herself had had to stock with hand soap the second time she stayed there. She would start with the ensuite bath though, if she was going to spruce one of them up. That had more potential.

She made her way to the stairs, dragging her fingers along the wooden banister as she climbed them. Rick had shown her pictures of the place taken when he first bought it, pointing out all of the upgrades he had made over the years; years spent here with his ex-wife. Though it seemed there was nothing left here of the woman he was married to, the entire place giving off a very strong bachelor vibe, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like for him to share the same space with her as he had with Lori. She peeked into the two bedrooms at the top of the stairs, a large bathroom in between them with an unused shower/tub combo, and wondered if they had intentions of filling these rooms with kids when they had selected this house. She wondered if he wanted kids, and how many. As close as they were, there were a lot of things that just hadn't come up between them yet, and now they suddenly seemed overdue.

Deciding to remedy that as part of her plan to show him she was all in, she instead set about selecting a preferred room for her work area, noting that the one on the left was closer to the top of the stairs, and thus within hearing distance of the living room, in case that was someday important. She entered the room on the right, empty except for some boxes and an arm chair, and determined that this one looked more like an office.

Satisfied with her innocuous snooping, she went back to the main floor and meandered back to his bedroom to wait in comfort before she had to do something with the groceries Rick was retrieving. There was just one more stop she wanted to make before diving back under the covers. She opened his dresser drawer and dug into the back to find his mother's ring again. Opening the box, she examined the antique piece more closely, ruminating on the happy nostalgia that had flashed across Rick's face when he had held it.

She didn't want to allow any ill willed thoughts to cross her mind about a woman she had never met, but the idea that someone wouldn't feel privileged to wear a piece of his past was beyond her. Anyone could buy a piece of jewelry, but this was like being handed a lineage, an entire lifetime that you were being asked to pay homage to with your love. Not to mention if his grandmother's ring was as gorgeous as this one, she knew his ex was out of her mind not to want to rock that bling.

She let the spring loaded box snap shut with a loud click and tucked it away, carefully covering it with Rick's underwear and socks. She was just about to climb back into bed when she heard him come through the front door.

"Hey," she greeted, noting his jacket was a bit wet, and glancing out the door behind him to see rain starting to fall. She crossed the room to take a bag from him as he slipped off the wet layer.

"Hey." He used his now free hand to pull at her shorts, kissing her mouth in greeting. "I got everything except the organic tea. You're probably gonna have to bring some of that from home, 'cause the local place doesn't have a big organic section." He set the bag down and began emptying its contents onto the kitchen island. "I got you regular tea for now. With a healthy dose of pesticides."

She chuckled at the way he was half teasing her and half proving his good listening skills as he recalled a common complaint of hers. "I guess it will do for now," she said, helping him to organize the groceries.

"You're going to have to tell me what to do," he said, gesturing to the ingredients that spread across half of the counter. "I can chop and clean or whatever you want. I'm at your service."

"You can start by washing the vegetables," she directed, surveying the lot and drawing up a plan of attack. She hadn't realized it was going to rain when she suggested the hearty soup for lunch, but now it seemed like the perfect choice.

He gathered the carrots and celery from the counter, heading toward the sink, when he stopped suddenly. "I almost forgot," he said, setting his work down again. He went back to one of the bags, digging around for a bit, before pulling out a brown bakery bag. "Figured it would be a bit before this was done, so I got you a muffin. Cranberry bran. Looked just terrible enough for you to like."

She beamed at him, swiping the bag from his hand and removing her treat. "I love cranberry bran."

"Figured," he laughed, heading back to the sink while she unwrapped the muffin.

"You're sweet, you know that?" she said, still smiling at the back of his head.

"You say that like we just met."

"No. I've known that for awhile. Since we first met, actually."

"I've known a lot of things about you since we first met," he offered, keeping his eyes on his task.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" She was intrigued to hear him verbalize his first impressions, though he hadn't put any effort into hiding them that night, or any night since.

"I knew you would be good in bed," he said, obviously hiding a grin.

She snorted around her mouthful of muffin, efforting to keep the whole thing in her mouth. "Oh really?" she asked. "You got that from one drink and a dance?"

"I did. I'm good at reading people."

"Ok, what else?"

"I don't know," he said, tilting his head and shrugging his shoulders. "I guess I knew you were a force, someone who knew what she wanted from this world and took it. And I wanted to be what you wanted."

She stopped chewing and smiled warmly from behind him, watching him toil away at his mundane task while dishing out love letter like compliments. She set the rest of her muffin down and walked to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind as he stood at the sink. She felt him pause, surprised by her sudden affection, then melt into her embrace. "You know," she started, letting him get back to his vegetables as she came to lean against the counter beside him. "There was something else that happened the other day that played a part in this thing between us."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, moving to the cutting board for his next step. "Oh yeah?"

"One of my co-workers said something...something that made me...nervous, I guess. It was a coincidence really, that it happened on the same day."

"What was it?" he asked, tossing his gaze between her and his chopping.

"She said guys like you want a woman to take care of them, stay home, do the cooking and cleaning. That sort of thing."

Rick chuckled slightly, less offended than she anticipated by the remark. "Well, I already took care of you this mornin'," he grinned, obviously satisfied with himself. "And it looks to me like I'm the one doing all the cooking, and you're the one doing all the eating."

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed. "I'll be taking over once you get those done." She moved to grab the rest of her snack, suddenly reminded she hadn't finished. She let the moment simmer in comfortable silence for a beat, then continued. "So, that's not something you want? Or expect?"

"What? You cooking and cleaning?" He dried his hands off on the kitchen towel and took the spot beside her, nudging her hip with his.

"Me doing only that. Like giving up my career, staying home to tend house."

The amusement in Rick's eyes turned into full on mirth as he laughed out loud at the thought. "First of all, I'm pretty sure you make more money than me," he chuckled.

She pursed her lips and laughed at his joke. "It's probably close," she said with a shy grin.

"Second of all, I'm proud of you, Michonne. It would never ask you to give up doing all the good you do, just to do my laundry and wash the floors."

She nodded, feeling that guilt from the prior day start to creep back in.

"Now cookin' is another thing. It might be in your best interest to be in charge of that. But on days that you can't, I can grill a mean steak."

She giggled at him again, her smiling cheeks burning from the constant stretch, in the way she reflected on during her ride there the day before. She took the ingredients he prepared and got to work putting them to their intended purpose. "It's just that I know Lori was there like that. Home for you."

"She was home, doing her thing," he said quietly. "I wouldn't say it was for me, or for us."

"You don't talk about her much...or what your life was like then. Here in this house." She looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes, gauging his reaction to her bringing it up. He was looking at the ground, rubbing at his knuckles with the thumb of one hand. He seemed pensive, but comfortable.

"Does that bother you?" he asked, finally meeting her eyes. "If there's something you wanna know, I don't mind…"

"It's not that," she said, stopping him before he felt the need to confess anything he wasn't prepared for. "It's not actually about her…"

"Was that part of it though? That this was her house?"

"No," she said assuredly. The thought had only occurred to her today, but she was pretty sure it wasn't about that either. "I just realized we haven't really talked about any of that big picture stuff. You talk about the future for us, but we never talk about what that future entails. What we want it to entail."

He nodded again, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and she could tell he was hearing something other than what she was trying to say.

"I'm not questioning it," she said, taking a step toward him and wrapping her fingers around his forearm to bring his eyes back to hers. "I'm saying I _want_ to talk about those things with you. To hear your thoughts. It's the planner in me," she chuckled, trying to steer them back somewhere more serene.

"Alright," he said, his eyes turning bright again. "Like what?"

"Well, those rooms upstairs...did you picture kids in them one day?" She turned back to the stove, releasing him from her eyes, so he could speak more freely.

"I guess it was something I just assumed when we bought the place. Then it started to seem less and less like a good idea." She could hear him shuffling behind her, opening the fridge and rustling around, but she kept the spotlight of her gaze on her work. "Lori went back on her birth control at one point, without telling me. Then we started sleeping in different rooms. It was just...off the table after awhile."

He trailed off and she finally turned to look at him. Leaning on the counter, arms folded across his chest, his eyes were cast downward again, and she decided she should stop him. "You don't have to tell me," she said, lamenting the serious tone she had summoned back to their enjoyable day.

"I just feel like I'm not comin' off that good in this story," he said, with a regretful smile.

"That's not true," she said, shaking her head at him. "I know there are a lot of sides in situations like that."

"A few, I guess."

"So what about now? In this situation? Is that back on the table?"

"Are you askin' me if I want to have kids with you, Michonne?" he asked, seemingly delighted at the casting change in the conversation.

"I'm just wondering what you see for your future, Rick. Ours."

"I haven't thought about it for a long time," he admitted. "I figured that ship had sailed, but when I met you I started thinking about a lot of stuff again."

She waited, attempting to coax a more specific response out of him with her patience.

"I guess the answer is I want what you want. And that's not a cop out," he said, looking at her sincerely. "I've been back and forth so many times, reordering my priorities based on whatever life was at the moment...but I wasn't prepared to meet you, and now you're here and whatever comes next, as long as it's you and me reordering things together...I want that."

She rubbed her hands together, shedding any remnants of their now simmering lunch, and took his face between her hands. "I want that too."

He took ahold of her wrist, leaving a kiss on the inside before lacing their fingers. "So, is it on the table for you?" he asked. "For planning purposes?" he gave her a sweet smile, tilting his head in wait.

"I've always wanted kids," she offered, easily. "I've never been to the part where it's an actual discussion, but I've always been partial to the idea of having that someday. After yesterday 'someday' seems more like a time, instead of an idea."

"I think so too," he said with a grin.

"Even though we're not doing this now, moving in, I know we will and then there's going to be a step after that, and after that." She looked into his eyes, pleased with the contentment she had put there in her first attempt at being bold, unafraid. "I want to keep talking about it."

He nodded again, the emotion on his face explaining his silent answer, and she gave his hand one more squeeze.

…

The sun finally pushed away the rain clouds, just in time to retire from its valiant effort and put itself to bed. Rick felt Michonne's legs stir underneath his cheek as he lay in her lap in the darkened living room, and her fingers left his hair, reaching toward the ceiling in a reluctant stretch.

"I should head back," she said, sounding exhausted by the thought.

He peeled himself from her warmth, pressing his thumb and index finger into his eyes to break them out of their near sleep state. "Yeah, I figured that time was coming." He stood, lifting their empty bowls that had been sitting on the coffee table for hours, as they lounged around on the couch, talking and kissing and napping since lunch.

They made their way to his bedroom, after he dropped the dirty dishes off in the kitchen, and she picked up her pants and bra.

"You can keep the shirt," he said, as she was about to pull it over her head. "You need something warmer?"

"No. My jacket is here somewhere." She tossed his boxers into his hamper and pulled on the jeans and underwear she had put on three days ago, with a little crinkle of her nose.

"Bring back some stuff for that drawer," he said, nodding behind him.

"Be careful what you wish for," she smiled mischievously at him.

"Guess I should," he replied with his own grin, secretly hoping to see her show up with armfuls of her stuff next time she came. It was their typical Sunday night routine, taking place a day later, but watching her leave this time was harder. He sat on the bed to pull on socks and boots so he could walk her out, keeping one eye on her form as she gathered her things from around the room. "I have a late shift on Thursday," he said, standing to meet her in the doorway. "I could come up the night before."

"Good," she said leaning against the threshold and letting him invade her space.

He propped an arm on the wall above her, looking down at her through needy eyes, and let out a small groan when her hands wrapped around him, slipping into the back pockets of his jeans. Saying goodbye had him questioning whether taking back his invitation was good judgement or sheer stubbornness, but it was done and he needed to see it through.

"This is right," she said, obviously sensing his reluctance. "We're back on track."

He dropped a kiss to her cheek, bringing his arms down around her and ushering her toward the door. Holding it open, he watched her waltz out into the ashen twilight, brisk air hitting him in the face as he followed, and he shivered in the short sleeves he had carelessly left the house in.

He reached around her when the got to her car, opening the driver's side door for her, and she turned around to kiss him goodbye. Two days, he thought, as he kissed her back. It was better than a week, but not better than her not leaving at all. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said, as she broke their farewell and got into her car.

"Good night, Rick," she replied, and he closed the door, taking a step back to watch her pull away.

Once she was gone, he meandered back into his house, the noticeable solitude reminding him of the way the cold immediately creeps into an old house when the hearth is put out. He sat back down on the couch, smiling at the television that was still droning out the documentary she had been watching. Despite his arguing when she first selected it, he decided to let it play; it was a little piece of her to keep him company, and he'd take it.


	7. Chapter 7

It's been forever and a day, I know :) but some of you have asked so nicely for an update to this story,(Sophiasown, comewithnattah, thegist,) and Rickscolt made such an awesome cover that I had to put one out for you. I have a really hard time managing two universes at a time, so I probably won't get back to this one until Meant To Be Yours is finished, but here you go for now. Thank you so much for your support on this story. xoxox

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey, sorry I'm late," Michonne whispered, holding one hand over the receiver of her cellphone as she rushed into her condo.

Rick waved at her from his spot on the couch, already dressed and waiting for her, as she tried desperately to finish the conversation that was eating into her evening.

She dropped her purse on the chair, pressing her shoulder to her ear to hold the phone while she unbuckled the little leather straps on her shoes. Giving him a 'pretty please' with her eyes, she backed up to where he sat, and he unzipped the back of her dress, surprising her when he sank back into the couch without even attempting to let his hands stray.

"Yes, I understand," she said, tossing him a glance over her shoulder. "'I'll have it ready for her review tomorrow."

Rick's eyes had slipped closed, his head tipped back against the back of the couch, and she furrowed her brow at the sight, making a mental note to check in with him before they rushed back out the door. She scurried into her bedroom to change, and when she finally finagled her way off of the phone, she called out to him in the living room, as she dug furiously through her drawers. "Give me five minutes and I'm good," she said, pulling out the black jeans she was looking for.

"Alright," he said simply.

She let her dress drop to the floor, stepping each foot into the pants, and walked back out to him, pulling them up as she went. "You ok?"

She noted that he still hadn't moved, and a small part of her was starting to worry at his lack of enthusiasm upon greeting her. Things had been good, no great, in the weeks since their one and only fight, but it lingered in her mind how close she had come to losing this.

He opened his eyes, running the back of his hand slowly over his brow. "Yeah, I'm good," he said, sleepily. "I think you jinxed me, though."

"What does that mean?" she asked, a slight smirk playing on her lips in amusement and relief at his playful tone.

"I haven't had so much as a cold in years, then you convince me to call out sick last month, and now I think I'm coming down with something."

Michonne gave him a sympathetic look, walking topless over to where he stood and brushing his hair with her fingers. "You want to skip tonight?" she asked, climbing onto his lap and searching his face for the severity of his complaint.

"No, I took a little rest while I was waiting on you. I can make it."

"Ok," she agreed, taking him at his word. She had never seen him complain about anything physical before, but if he said he was ok, she would believe him. She was dying to finally show him off to her co-workers at their customary Wednesday night Happy Hour, and she would never hear the end of it if they didn't show up to dinner with everyone afterward. She had been spending a lot of time at Rick's house lately, and they had missed more than a few of these get togethers

She kissed the top of his head and rushed back into her bedroom, slipping a thin, low cut, sweater off of a hanger and pulling it over her pinned up locs. Socks and knee-high boots, and she was done. This time when she returned, he was shrugging on his coat and grabbing hers from the back of the chair where she had tossed it, looking slightly more alive.

Rick followed her out to the parking lot of her building, squeezing into her little compact car that she swore was necessary for parallel parking on the crowded city streets, and resumed his previous slouched position, reclining the seat slightly so he could rest his head.

"Shoot," she exclaimed just as they were pulling onto the street. "I forgot to brush my teeth." She pouted, hesitating slightly and considering turning around if she didn't know they were already going to arrive behind everyone else.

Rick slipped his hand into his coat pocket, pulling out a roll of mints and handed her one with a grin. She took it, beaming back at him in thanks.

"So, you'll tell me which one is Olivia, right?"

"Rick…" she warned as she popped the mint in her mouth.

"I promise I won't say a thing," he offered with one hand over his chest in pledge. "I'm just curious." He gave her a wicked smile and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'll introduce you to everybody. Just be good."

"I always am."

…

After parking in an admittedly tight spot, and walking a couple blocks over crooked, cobblestone sidewalks, they finally made it to the busy watering hole. Rick glanced at Michonne, clearly surprised to see the wall to wall crowd that had gathered on an evening, mid-week. There was just one bar in his hometown and they got drinks there from time to time, but even during prime time on a Saturday night, it wasn't this full. The truth was, she had kind of gotten used to the elbow room and found herself irritated at the difficulty she was having leading the way to her friends across the room.

They broke through the bar crowd just as Aaron was pulling out a couple of chairs at a high top table in a corner that had recently been vacated. "Michonne!" he greeted, enthusiastically. "Just in time, we finally got a place to sit." He gestured to the chair he was moving and wiped his hand on his jeans before offering it to Rick. "I'm Aaron."

"Rick," he said, shaking his hand and giving him a friendly nod. "Nice to meet you."

"Can't believe it's for the first time," Aaron responded, his voice raised over the music that was pumping through the space. He turned to give Michonne a hug as he spoke. "Michonne talks about you a lot."

The comment had Rick grinning like the Cheshire Cat, while Michonne narrowed her eyes at her friend's disclosure, trying to be annoyed. Pride outweighed any embarrassment she might have once felt though, since she was finally getting to make the long overdue introductions. "Aaron was traveling for awhile," she explained. "He's only been back a few weeks."

"Yeah, and this weekly get together is the only time I get to see Michonne anymore, outside of the office. I'm glad you could make it to one."

"Me too," Rick agreed, scanning the tables where her co-workers were sneaking glances at him.

Michonne grabbed his hand, leading him to the table where two women and a man, whom he quickly deduced was Aaron's boyfriend, all sat in wait. She went around the table making her introductions and trying not to beam as all of her colleagues, both female and male, openly appreciated Rick's lean frame that looked like it was carved out of the tight, white, henley shirt he wore. He had the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, his strong, tan forearms flexing as he offered a string of handshakes, and she realized she was doing her own gawking. If they only knew what was under that shirt, she thought.

Shaking her head to beckon her mind back from the gutter, she got around to Olivia, and Rick's charm meter instantly ticked up a couple notches. He greeted her with his thickest, most syrupy drawl, the one that he pulled out on special occasions, and Michonne had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as Olivia's cheeks burned red beneath the rims of her glasses.

"We've ordered some pitchers if you want a beer," Aaron said to the two of them.

"Lemme go to the bar and get you somethin'," Rick offered, knowing Michonne wasn't a big beer drinker. It was half an honest gesture and half a show of chivalry for Olivia's benefit, but she declined.

"No. Save me a seat. I'll go." She dropped his hand, and he gave her a mischievous smile as he took the stool next to Olivia.

After pushing through the crowd again and waiting far too long in line, she finally made it back with her cocktail, but Aaron appeared and caught her by the elbow before she could reach the table.

"So," her friend smiled, "he's quite charming."

"He is," she readily agreed, with a sip of her drink.

"You told him what Olivia said, didn't you?" Aaron matched her sip, smiling at her over his pint glass.

She didn't stop herself this time, letting her eyes travel all the way back into her head as she groaned. "What did he say?"

"Nothing, it's just he's laying it on thick with the 'yes ma'am's' and the country twang. She's eating it up, to be honest."

"Well, I did tell him," she admitted sheepishly. "It was sort of a thing."

"Oh, Michonne. Don't tell me you took all that blabbering to heart."

"Briefly," she promised. "Things are fine now."

"Good," he said, giving her a genuine nod of approval.

"I have to hit the ladies room," she said. "Keep an eye on Olivia for me." She winked at him and handed over her cocktail for him to hold, before heading off to the restrooms.

 **...**

"So, Michonne told us you're a police officer. That's exciting," Olivia gushed. "You must have some really good stories?" She pushed her glasses up higher on her nose and set her chin in her hands, hanging off of his every word.

Aaron rejoined the table, taking an open spot across from Rick, and shared a knowing grin with the others who were watching the conversation with amusement.

Rick was just about to answer with his best heroic tale, when a tall man appeared in his line of sight, stepping behind Aaron and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Hi, Jay," Aaron smiled, turning to shake the man's hand.

"Hey, guys. How's it going? Thought I saw Michonne head this way."

Rick's ears perked up immediately, and he studied the strapping man with rich, dark skin and jet black stubble, who was looking around for his girlfriend.

"She ran to the bathroom," Aaron answered, tipping his head in that direction.

"Cool, cool. She left her sunglasses on the bar." Jay held the mirrored aviators up with a shrug.

"Thanks, man," Rick chimed in. "I can take 'em." He reached a hand across the table with a politely expectant smile.

Jay peered at Rick's open palm, one eye narrowed suspiciously in doubt, then placed his hands on his hips, looking back at the entrance to the restroom. "I'll wait."

Rick settled back into his stool with a crooked grin, amused by the posturing he was witnessing by this new arrival. He glanced in the same direction, watching for Michonne to appear from the dark corridor, while continuing to offer Olivia bits and pieces of attention.

Michonne did appear moments later, sauntering her way over to the table, and Rick stood, pulling out the chair he had been sitting in to offer it to her. She quickly took a detour however, as soon as she noticed her friend.

"Hey, what are you doing on this side of the bar?" she asked, tossing her locs behind her shoulder just adorably enough that Rick let out a little huff, before covering it with a sip of his beer.

Jay pulled the glasses out from behind his back, displaying them before her as if they were a dozen, long stemmed roses, and Rick couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the move. He had a well practiced habit of reading body language, and he wasn't at all enjoying the story this guy was telling.

"Thank you!" Michonne gushed, bringing a hand to her mouth in surprise. "I would have been heartbroken."

Aaron's head was bobbing back and forth between Jay's brilliant smile and Rick's emerging scowl, and he cleared his throat loudly, stealing Michonne's attention back.

She hooked her glasses onto the neckline of her top and took her drink back from Aaron, finally making her way to the seat Rick was still reserving. Suddenly remembering her manners, she offered up her introductions. "Jay, this is my boyfriend, Rick," she said, completely oblivious to the slight downturn in the corner of Jay's mouth as the title left her tongue. Rick didn't miss it though, and his lips curled in the opposite direction, as he reached across the table for the second time.

"Jay bartends here on Wednesday nights," she continued, while the two men exchanged a bruising handshake.

"Haven't seen you in here for a while, Michonne," Jay said, his gaze bouncing back to her the second his hand was released. "I was getting kinda used to seeing that pretty smile every week."

Rick shuffled his feet, attempting to stand up a little straighter. His body warring between the need to rest from whatever illness he was fighting at the moment, and the desire to do a little posturing himself. He was cursing himself for feeling like shit when there was a guy who looked like he should be on the cover of Men's Health magazine making heart eyes at his girlfriend.

Michonne chuckled nervously, Jay's intentions seemingly dawning on her in that moment, but Rick didn't give her a chance to retort, jumping at the chance to clear up the mystery of her recent whereabouts for Jay. "That would be my fault," he said, eyeing the man whom he had pinned as his opponent for the evening, and giving him a cocky grin. "I guess I've been kinda selfish with her time." He tilted his head to the side, and wrapped a tight arm around Michonne's shoulder. "Can you blame me?"

Michonne glanced up at Rick, her lips parted in an expression he couldn't quite read, and he decided not to push his luck any further, stifling the rest of his thoughts with another sip of beer.

"Well, I should get back to the bar," Jay said, seemingly sizing up how much of Rick's threatening stare was going to be a promise.

"Thank you for my sunglasses," she said, her tone more formal this time. "I appreciate it."

Rick watched Jay retreat, before settling back into his Prince Charming act for Olivia, though he didn't miss the promise of a follow up conversation in Michonne's eyes.

"Are you two joining us for dinner?" Olivia asked, interrupting their silent communication.

"We actually have another reservation we have to make," Michonne answered. "Sorry we could only stay for one round."

"Booo," Olivia called loudly, reminding the table she was well past round one, and Aaron chuckled at the outburst.

"We'll have to do this again, Rick," he said, offering his hand.

"Looking forward to it," he replied, as Michonne hugged her goodbyes.

 **...**

"What was that about?" Michonne asked, when they had escaped the packed bar to the brisk air of the city street. She stepped to the side to allow some people to pass her, and he followed.

"What do you mean?"

"Your little standoff with Jay. Was that part of the game you were playing with Olivia, or was that for my benefit?" She crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to maintain a stern scowl against the smirk that she was fighting. As much as the little pissing contest had irritated her, she did find this competitive side of him to be a bit of a turn on.

"That depends," he said. "Was the hair flipping and giggling for my sake or his?"

Michonne's mouth dropped open and she was fully prepared to give him a piece of her mind, until she saw the playful grin he was wearing. She didn't know whether to laugh or hit him, but she decided against physical retaliation when she also noticed his posture was a bit slumped and he was favoring his right side, cradling it with his hand as he spoke.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think I pulled something at the gym this morning," he said, still holding his side. "It's been killing me all day." He began walking again, and she followed after him, watching him carefully.

"He's never flirted with like that before," she said, taking ahold of his arm. "I'm sorry that made you uncomfortable."

"Yeah, well I'm sure he has. You probably just didn't notice, cause he's not that good at it."

"Oh, really?" she laughed.

"Really. And he obviously wasn't deterred by my presence. He just needed a little reminder that you're already spoken for, to keep with him when I'm not there."

She shook her head at him, trying to maintain at least a little incredulity, but failing miserably.

"You sure you're up for dinner?" she said, trying not to pull him along, despite being in a rush.

"We don't need to cancel dinner because I pulled a muscle," he laughed and winced simultaneously. "I haven't seen you in days."

"You mean you haven't seen Daryl," she smirked.

"Oh, is he gonna be there?" he smiled back, innocently.

"Come on."

The restaurant where they were meeting was just a few blocks away and they arrived only a couple minutes late, despite Rick's inability to hustle.

Daryl was the first to spot them, completely ignoring Michonne to pull Rick in for a handshake turned man hug. "What's the matter with you?" he asked when Rick recoiled slightly from the aggressive show of affection.

"He pulled a muscle," Michonne answered, reaching up to steal her own hug. "Where is everyone?"

"They got a table in the back," he explained. "Figured it was better since Andrea's voice tends to carry."

…

"So, this was Jay from Bruno's right?" Daryl asked, laughing around a mouthful of cheeseburger.

"You know him," Rick asked, his grin growing at the coming vindication. He'd just finished retelling the story of their first stop for the evening to a captive audience.

"Yeah, he's the guy that's been drooling over Michonne for years now."

"What the hell, Daryl?" Michonne said, unimpressed.

"What? It some secret?"

"You really don't see this?" Rick asked, with a self satisfied chuckle.

"Michonne ain't never been good at reading signs right."

"If they're too forward, they're creeps. If they're too casual, she misses it altogether," Sasha explained.

"What'd you do right?" Andrea laughed, tapping Rick on the arm.

"Now this one on the other hand," Daryl said, pointing at Andrea, "she likes 'em extra creepy."

"Shut up, Dixon," Andrea sneered, tossing a napkin across the table at him.

Michonne settled back to watch the two spar, relieved the subject had turned away from her, and she noticed Rick pushing a mushroom around his plate with his fork, his food barely touched. "You don't like the pasta?" she asked, pointing to his dinner.

"It's good, I'm just not all that hungry."

"That's not like you," she teased, never knowing him to turn down a meal. She turned in her seat to take a look at him. "How are you feeling?"

"What's the matter?" Sasha asked, eavesdropping between bites of her fish tacos. She was staring at him now too, from across the table.

"I'm just coming down with somethin'"

"I thought you pulled a muscle?" Daryl said.

"I did," he said, squirming in his chair to try to get comfortable.

"Hmmm." Sasha put her food aside, looking him up and down with her eyes squinted.

"Don't try to diagnose him," Andrea said, pointing at Sasha with her fork. "It's like a party trick she pulls out whenever anyone so much as sneezes."

"I'm a nurse," Sasha replied, unfazed.

"Right now you're just at dinner."

"Well, I think you should get that checked out, Rick," Sasha said, ignoring Andrea. "Abdominal pain, loss of appetite...could be a lot of things."

"Nah, I just need an ice pack and a beer," he said.

Michonne looked back at him, taking in his pale skin and pained face, and she started to feel bad for dragging him around all evening, when he obviously wasn't up for it. "Let's finish up," she said, waving down the waitress. "I have both at my house."

 **...**

"Did you have fun?" Rick asked, as he lay in the middle of Michonne's bed in his boxer shorts, watching her search for sleepwear. He looked relieved to finally be fully reclined again and she was relieved to finally get out of her jeans, after splurging on the cocktails.

"I did," she replied, settling on a t shirt and shorts and slipping them on. She took the spot beside him and grabbed a bottle of lotion from her night stand. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked, pumping some into her palm and smoothing it over her bare legs, while he watched.

"Come here and I'll show you."

"You're going to get me sick," she said, rubbing the rest of the lotion into her hands.

"I told you this is your fault, so you deserve it."

Michonne giggled, crawling over until she was on all fours above him, and he reached up to the back of her neck, pulling her head toward his for a slow kiss. "Maybe I can help," she whispered.

"I'm counting on it."

He let his heavy lids close as she worked her way from his mouth to his neck, taking full advantage of his immobility to explore her favorite spots. She brushed her lips over the skin beneath his ear, drawing a quiet moan from him as she continued her slow descent. Kissing along his broad chest, her fingers crawled along his side to find the waistband of his boxers, slipping in just enough to tease him.

"I think I know just the thing" she purred, dragging her tongue over the ripples of his ab muscles, and stopping to nibble and lick at the skin just below his belly button. When he offered no reaction, she picked her head up, her eyebrow quirked in curiosity, and found him fast asleep.

Chuckling at him under her breath, she moved to his side and reached down to pull the heavy, feather filled comforter up around him, before placing another soft kiss on his forehead. She realized his skin felt hot against her lips, and she frowned at his sleeping form.

"Rick," she said, laying a palm flat on his cheek. "I think you have a fever." She turned her hand over, pressing the back of her fingers to his forehead to confirm.

He mumbled out an incoherent answer, turning over to bury his head in the pillow.

"I'm going to get you some Tylenol," she said, jumping off the bed and padding into the bathroom.

…

Michonne was staring out of the large, picture window in her office, watching the gathering clouds, as the afternoon ticked slowly by. She was having a hard time focusing on work on this comfortably dreary day, that begged to be spent in bed. She'd woken up to a slightly refreshed Rick, and he'd convinced her to risk the further exposure to whatever bug he was fighting, to make up for the night before. She was playing the highlight reel over in her head, stroking her fingertips up and down her neck in remembrance, when she was startled by her phone buzzing across her desk. She reached for it, turning it over to reveal Rick's face plastered across the screen, his number blinking at the top.

"Hey you," Michonne answered in her sexiest purr. "I was just thinking about…"

"Woah, woah. As much as I'd love to hear the rest of that sentence, it's Shane."

"Shane? Why are you calling me on Rick's phone?" she demanded, biting her lip at the thought of what she had almost said to him.

"Listen, Rick's ok, but he's at the hospital. Just brought him in, they said it was a burst appendix."

"You're kidding me!" she practically shouted.

"Wish I was, he practically keeled over outside the shooting range today, thought he was gonna puke all over my car on the way here."

"He just left my house this morning!" she said, continuing her replay of the day's start, this time searching for a sign she had missed. "He said he was feeling better."

"He give you the same line about overdoing it at the gym?" Shane chuckled. "Just so you know, for future reference, that's not how his workouts go."

"Why are you laughing?" she asked, standing to gather her keys and sunglasses from her desk. "This is serious."

"He's fine. I just thought I should call you, let you know. But you don't need to worry."

"I'm coming," she said, ignoring his attempts at placating her. "What hospital are you at?"

"Only one in town, sweetheart," he responded. "I'll see you in a bit."

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P.S. I'm not very good at keeping these to one shots, so the next one will pick up here:)


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Hi all. Thank you so much to everyone who has messaged me looking for an update to this story. Some of you have sent me some really kind words and I'm very grateful for the support. I'm really glad to hear you are enjoying Day by Day, and your Tumblr asks and DM's had me chomping at the bit to get back into this universe. Here is the next part of this little series! Thank you for reading and reviewing :)**

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Michonne used the key Rick had given her to unlock his front door with one hand, his gym bag hooked on her arm and a glass vase of flowers balancing in the other. Rick stood behind her, his hands casually in the pockets of his sweatpants, watching amusedly as she struggled.

"Can I at least take the flowers?" he asked, making no move to get them from her, as he already anticipated her answer.

She finally sprung the lock and pushed inside. "I got it," she replied.

Rick followed slowly, a slight shuffle to his steps the only tell for the pain he was still in. He made it across the living room without too much trouble, carefully lowering himself onto the couch as Michonne ferried his belongings around the house, returning them all to their proper spot.

"Ok," she said, when she had finally emptied her arms of the items they had left the hospital with. "Let's get you to the bedroom."

"I'll just set up out here, Michonne," he said, lifting his legs stiffly onto the couch. "That way I can easily get to the fridge or the door if someone shows up."

Michonne looked at him as if he had two heads. "You're not getting up and down all day," she said. "I'll get you what you need, you just rest." Her heart ached looking at him, the pain registering on his face every time he moved.

"I'm supposed to walk a little, besides I'll need to be able to get up and down tomorrow when you go back to work."

"I took the week off," she said. "And maybe the week after that, depending on how you're doing." Michonne took the throw blanket off of the back of the couch, laying it over him and headed toward his bedroom to retrieve his pillow.

"You already took half of last week off, Michonne," he argued with the back of her, as she retreated down the hall. "I can't let you do that."

"You don't have to let me, because I already did it." She came back down the hallway carrying two bed pillows and his cellphone charger that she found plugged in on his bedside table. "I told Shane you'd call when we got home."

Rick ignored the suggestion, tossing the phone back onto the coffee table. "One of the guys can come check on me if I need them to. I feel bad, you missing work."

"Rick," she said firmly, stopping her preparations for a moment to look him in the eye. "I can work from here if I need to. I'm not leaving you."

He nodded, too tired and too unconfident in his prospects to continue arguing.

"Do you want something to eat?" she asked, when it was clear he had given up.

"Not right now," he answered, letting his head fall back against the pillow she had fluffed for him. "I didn't really get much sleep the last few nights in the hospital. I just want to rest for a bit."

"Good," she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "You do that. I'll be here if you need anything."

…

Hours passed with Rick sleeping fitfully on the couch and Michonne cursing herself for not making him get into bed. Mid-morning melted into afternoon, as she kept herself busy around his house. Though Rick's house was surprisingly tidy in general, and not just when he planned on her being there like she'd assumed, she still found a few projects to keep her busy. She also had days worth of her own work spread around his dining room table that she was picking away at.

She was beginning to worry about him sleeping through his next dose of pain medications, when she heard him call to her. She set down the file she'd been thumbing through and padded over to the living room. When she came around to the front of the couch and caught the sight of his still sleeping face, she couldn't help her grin. He'd been saying her name in his sleep, she realized, the thought warming her heart. She watched him for a few more moments, hating to interrupt the sleep he was finally able to get, but it had been too long since he'd eaten or gotten up to move around, and the nurse at the hospital, as well as Sasha, had been insistent that both were important.

He shifted slightly in his sleep, his face grimacing but his eyes remaining closed, and she decided she'd have to wake him.

"Rick," she whispered, running her fingers gently across his scalp. "Hey…"

His eyes fluttered open and she crouched down beside the couch so he wouldn't have to sit up yet.

"Hey, how long was I out?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Few hours. Not long enough, but you need to take more pain meds."

"Probably a good idea," he said, struggling a bit to sit up. She attempted to smooth down his sleep touched hair, while he threw an arm over the back of the couch and looked around the house, squinting in the dim light left by the drawn curtains. "You're getting some work done?" he asked, eyeing the state of his table.

"I am. Hope I wasn't too loud."

"No," he said, swinging his legs off of the couch and moving to stand. "It's just…" he paused for a moment, as he hoisted himself up with an arm around his midsection. Michonne stood with him, attempting to brace him, and he gestured toward the stairs, heading in that direction. When he got to the first step he hesitated. "Go up and look," he said, obviously thinking better of the climb.

Michonne quirked an eyebrow at him, but did as he asked, making her way to the top. She glanced back at him as he leaned on the railing with a smile. "The one you picked," he said.

She took a few steps down the hall and came to the door to the bedroom farthest from the stairs, turning the knob. When she opened it, she saw all of the boxes he previously had stored there were gone and a large, antique looking wooden desk was set against the wall with two matching shelves hung above it. She walked toward it, running her fingers across the smooth wood, while she marveled at the rest of the work he'd done.

The walls had been freshly painted in a pale grey, and a filing cabinet and small rolling cart with a few office essentials stood opposite the desk, beside a pendant style floor lamp. He'd placed a low bookcase beneath the window, complete with a potted white orchid on the top. There was a frame beside it, and she leaned over to make out the picture inside, bringing her hand to her mouth in surprise when she recognized it as a postcard from the little resort town they'd met at.

"Do you like it?" he yelled to her from the bottom of the stairs.

She hurried out to the landing and beamed down at him. "I love it!" she exclaimed. "When did you do all of this?"

"I've been picking away at it after work," he replied, a self-satisfied smile replacing the pained look he'd been wearing since he got home. "It's not done yet. I didn't know you'd be using it so soon."

Michonne was torn between wanting to continue exploring the space he'd created for her and wanting to show her appreciation. He was looking too adorable to resist, though, and she trotted down the stairs to where he was waiting. She lifted up on her toes to kiss his lips, careful not to lean against him, but he ignored her caution and wrapped his arms around her anyway.

"It's perfect," she said, in between pecks. "Thank you."

"The desk was my dad's," he said. "Shane helped me move it up here from the basement. I left the shelves and walls blank; I figured you'd want to put your own touch on it."

"I can't believe you did all of that."

"I told you'd I'd make you an office," he said, smiling down at her.

"You did," she said, truly humbled by the gesture and a little taken back by the genuine sweetness that he continued to exhibit. When she pulled away, she suddenly remembered the meal she had been cooking and took his hand. "Come on, I made lunch."

"I was wonderin' what smelled so good," he said, following behind her slowly as she made her way into the kitchen.

"I have a soup cooking in the crockpot." She gestured to the kitchen island where she had already set out bowls and spoons.

"I have a crockpot?" he asked, looking inquisitively at the appliance.

"No, you definitely do not. I brought it over when I ran home for my files the other day. I also stocked your fridge."

Rick climbed onto to a stool, watching her glide around his kitchen, collecting a glass of water and bottle of pills and setting them in front of him.

"What's that look?" she asked, eyeing the persistent grin on his face.

"Nothing," he said. "I just appreciate you being here. I'm sorry if I sounded ungrateful earlier. I feel bad you missin' work...but I'm glad you're here."

"Work will be fine without me, Rick, really. I want to be here." What she really wanted was to go back in time and pick up on his symptoms before he ended up in the Emergency Room. She was feeling guilty for the evening she'd spent showing him off around town, instead of noticing how ill he was, and now she had every intention of handling all aspects of his recovery. This thing with Rick was a learning curve for her, a lesson in taking things as they come and letting her heart tell her how to act and what to do. Now she felt like she had a specific action plan for how to show him how much she cared, and she loved a good to-do list.

Rick nodded at her declaration, twisting the cap off of the little orange bottle and palming a couple of pills.

"So this is just beef stock with a little barley," she said, removing the lid from the pot and stirring the contents. "Sasha said you're supposed to eat light for at least a few days."

"Sasha must not know how hungry I am after surviving on hospital food," Rick replied around a swallow of water.

Michonne gave him a sympathetic smile; it had actually been much longer since he'd had a good meal, considering the night before he was admitted he hadn't eaten either. "You can have two bowls," she offered, earning her a chuckle.

"Thank you," he said, sincerely. He cupped her chin and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek that made her belly flutter.

When they had each consumed two bowls of their lunch, Michonne insisted on more couch time, ushering him back to his spot with a blanket and pillow and the remote control.

"You gonna join me or are you still working?" he asked, making himself comfortable in the spot she set for him.

Michonne glanced at the table full of files again, then at her boyfriend, deciding that keeping him company was just as important as keeping him comfortable and fed. "Save me a seat," she said. "I'm going to get you some more ice water."

Rick shook his head, but he knew her well enough to know it was no use arguing. When she returned, she took the seat opposite him, keeping a safe distance from the gauze covered stitches and bruising that covered his right side underneath his plain white t-shirt.

"You can touch me, Michonne," he said, noticing her reticence and giving her a mischievous grin. "I mean...not how you usually do…you're gonna have to have a little self control." He laughed then, for much longer than the joke called for, and she eyed him curiously, noticing his eyes had taken on a glassy appearance under his heavy lids. She held in a laugh, trying to be sensitive, but she was highly amused. Out of all the different states she'd seen Rick in over the course of their relationship, she could honestly say loopy was not one of them.

"You're feeling pretty good now?" she asked, as he continued to chuckle at nothing under his breath.

"I'm feeling good enough that you don't need to sit across the couch from me."

"Ok then," she said, cautiously. "Scoot over. I'll sit on your good side"

He did as he was told, and she stepped between him and the coffee table to walk around to his uninjured left side. Rick reached up as she passed, grabbing her backside and squeezing as she stepped over his outstretched legs.

She rolled her eyes at him playfully. "Are you gonna be a handful now?" she said, taking her new seat cuddled up against him.

"Of course not," he replied with another laugh.

"Ok," she said, giggling with him. "Pick something to watch then."

Rick stroked the stubble on his chin absently as he flipped through the channels, his lips slightly parted as he studied each choice intently for what seemed like forever. She finally looked up to see him with his eyes squinted at the screen and his head cocked to the side, looking slightly confused. "Rick?" she snickered, when it was clear he had no idea that he had already gone through the line up several times.

"Yeah," he drawled, "you should probably do it." He handed her the remote and rubbed at his eyes.

"Ok," she said sweetly, patting a hand on his thigh. "Maybe you _should_ eat something heavier before your next dose of painkillers."

She had just settled into her own search, when the loud chirp of a siren outside startled them both. Rick jerked up, hissing at the pain the quick maneuver caused, and Michonne went to the window to investigate. She pulled the curtain back just in time to see Shane step out of a cruiser parked halfway on Rick's lawn, followed by Abraham exiting the passenger seat and carrying what looked like a large takeout bag. She opened the door before they could knock, and they both greeted her enthusiastically.

"Hey 'Chonne," Shane said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, as she reluctantly allowed him.

"Shane," she greeted. "Abe...what are you guys doing here?"

"We came to see the patient!" Abe exclaimed, plopping his heavy frame down next to Rick, causing the couch cushion he was sitting on to jostle him painfully.

"That's right," Shane agreed. "Ain't been the same without you, man." He bypassed the block Michonne was unconsciously setting between him and Rick and perched on the arm of the couch next to his friend. "You get the flowers from the department? Girls at the front desk picked 'em out."

"I did," Rick said, gesturing behind him to where Michonne had arranged all of his flowers on the dining room table. "That was very kind of you. Tell everyone I said thanks."

Shane nodded. "So what's the prognosis, nurse?" he asked Michonne with a gleam in his eye. "When's he coming back to work?"

"I guess it depends on how his recovery goes." She set her hands on her hips and eyed the two of them with obvious displeasure.

Shane chuckled at her, tossing a glance at Abe. "Well, we won't stay long," he promised. "Just wanted to check in."

Michonne let out a sigh, feeling slightly sorry for her cold reception. Despite their brutish behavior, it was obvious Rick's friends were concerned in their own way. "Actually," she said, appealing to Abe, as she found him to be slightly more mature when it came to these things. She'd noticed the difference between the two the first weekend they'd all met. "I do need to run back to my condo and pick up a couple of files I forgot, and some more clothes. It will take me a couple of hours and I'd feel better if someone was here."

"Michonne," Rick sighed. "You really tryin' to set me up with a babysitter right now?"

"Rick, baby, you just got released from the hospital and you're high as a kite on pain meds right now. Please?"

Shane's eyes went wide with amusement as he took a good look at Rick's face for telling signs of inebriation. "Oh this is rich!" he exclaimed. "Did we finally find Grimes' weakness? He can't handle his Tylenol?"

Abe laughed too, but sensing Michonne was getting ready to rescind the request, he summoned a more serious tone. "It's all good, Michonne," he said, patting Rick on the shoulder hard enough to make her wince sympathetically. "We got nowhere else to be, so whether Rick likes it or not, we'll hang out till you get back."

"That's right," Shane nodded. "You can count on us."

Michonne forced a smile onto her lips. As much as she didn't like the idea of leaving, she hadn't packed enough fresh clothes for the whole week and this might be her only chance to make the trip without leaving him alone.

"OK," she said. "He's not supposed to lift anything, and…" she looked at her watch, "more pain pills in two hours, if I'm not back…"

Shane was laughing harder now, as he stood to usher her out the door. He followed her to the foyer, removing her coat from the hook by the door to help her slip it on. "I promise we'll take good care of him," he said with as much sincerity as he could muster around his laughter.

She sighed heavily, then crossed the room one more time to kiss Rick goodbye. She brushed her fingers through his hair as Abe averted his eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said as a promise to Rick, and a threat to his friends. "Be good."

"Promise," he said, tracing an x over his heart. Shane mimicked the gesture before waving her off, and she headed to her car, determined to make it there and back in record time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: It's been 84 years! Hope you remember what is happening in this story lol. Rick just got home from the hospital last chapter, and Michonne had to run home leaving Shane and Abe in charge for a bit...  
Thanks for reading! **

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Hey! How's Rick?" Aaron asked, immediately upon answering his office phone.

Michonne adjusted the volume on her car's Bluetooth and slowed to a stop at the last light before her street. "He's home from the hospital," she said. "Listen, I'm on my way back to my condo to grab a few things. Do you think you could meet me there and bring me the Petrillo file? I'd like to get back as soon as possible."

"Sure. Anything else you need?"

"No, thanks. I grabbed everything else on my last trip in. That's it."

"Alright. Andrea and I were going to meet for a drink. She's going to want to come."

"That's fine. I'll see you in a few."

She disconnected the call, her music taking over the car speakers again, and turned into the parking lot of her building. She hadn't been home in days, having left right from work after Shane called, and only coming back once to grab some more comfortable clothes after Rick had made it out of surgery. She'd been wearing the same yoga pants for three days now and Rick's deodorant didn't smell nearly as good on her as it did on him. She was definitely in need of some provisions.

She switched on a couple of lights and made her way to the kitchen to do a quick purge of her fridge. After emptying her coffee pot from the last time she'd had breakfast there, and tossing the rest of her leftovers, she moved to her bedroom and began stuffing arm-fulls of clothes into a duffle bag. She was moving on to her shoes when she heard a knock on the door, followed immediately by the tail end of a conversation between her two friends as they let themselves in.

"I'm in here," she called from her knees in front of her closet. Aaron and Andrea both appeared in the doorway with smiles on their faces.

"I feel like I'm seeing a ghost!" Andrea exclaimed. "You've been off the grid for days."

"I know," she said, standing to hug them each. "The hospital had shitty service and it was just busy from the minute I got there."

"So how is he?" Andrea asked, plopping down on the bed, then scooching over to let Aaron join her.

"He's ok. Still in a lot of pain, but he's resting." She went back to her task, clearing a few bottles of lotion from the top of her bureau and tossing them into the bag, before moving on to her bookcase. She picked out a few of her favorite poetry collections, wanting them to be featured more prominently in her new office space. Lastly, she grabbed a picture of her and Rick- taken at Maggie's wedding- that she thought would look perfect next to the postcard he'd framed.

Andrea and Aaron shared a look as they watched her fill the large bag up. "Are you fixin' to move to the country, Michonne?" Aaron asked in a playful drawl.

She turned and quirked an eyebrow at him. "You know we decided not to do that right now."

"But you sure are packing a lot of stuff…" Andrea couldn't help but join in when Aaron began to chuckle.

"I'm going to be there all week," she defended. "Maybe longer. He had major surgery. It's just clothes and toiletries and a few books…" She could feel herself begin to ramble and shook her head at their ability to rile her up.

"So everything but the furniture," Andrea teased.

"Cute," she said, sticking her tongue out at her friends and zipping up the overflowing bag. "It's a long drive and I don't want to leave him alone to come back and forth. Shane's over there now...God knows he's not going to be any help."

Andrea scrunched her nose up at the information. "That sounds like a terrible idea."

"Who's Shane?" Aaron asked, his eyes bouncing between their matching expressions.

"Rick's best friend and partner." Michonne plucked a pair of earrings off of her dresser and hooked them through her lobes. "He's not exactly the most reliable."

"Does he have family in and out?" Aaron asked. "I remember when I broke my arm, between Eric's parents and my brothers and sisters, I needed to recover from the company more than the injury."

"Rick doesn't have much for family," Michonne said, pulling her hair back with a headband, before deciding she was happy with her look. "His brother lives a couple hours away, and that's basically it. I guess you could say Shane is his family, the way he makes himself right at home, then overstays his welcome...but also the way they are there for each other."

"Still," Andrea said. "Being there is one thing, but I can't imagine Shane has the best bedside manner."

Michonne sighed, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. She had named herself captain of Rick's recovery team and she was already putting in the alternates. "Thanks for this," she said, holding up the manilla folder Aaron had brought her. "I'd better get back."

"Tell Rick we said hi," Andrea said, jumping up from the bed and shooing Michonne toward the door. "And Michonne...call us if you need help moving the appliances."

Michonne shook her head at her two friends as they pushed past her and into the hallway outside of her condo. She pulled the door shut behind her and locked it, once again using all of her arm strength to wrench her key out of the sticky lock before heading off to her car.

…

"The little woman's got the fridge full at least," Shane said, with his head behind the door, searching for a snack.

"She does." Rick nodded from the couch, where Abe was eyeing him with a crooked grin.

"What's this?" Shane gave up on the healthy fare he was finding in the fridge and moved to the crockpot.

Rick stared at him for a beat before answering. "...Beef broth with barley."

He put the lid back on with a defeated sigh and came back to the living room, taking a seat in the chair across from Rick. "She like the office?"

"...She did."

Shane shared a look with Abe and they both chuckled.

"What?" Rick asked. He thought he was answering the questions correctly, though he was admittedly having a little trouble spitting his words out at a conversational pace.

"Nothing, just glad she's here to help," Shane said, genuinely.

Abe nodded in agreement. "Got yourself a good one, Grimes," he said. "Don't let that one go."

"I don't plan on it," Rick said, with a lazy grin that he could only rally one side of his face to partake in. His head felt like it weighed 50 pounds. "I'm gonna put a ring on her finger... and put her in a little white dress...then we're gonna put a bunch of kids in this house. One for every bedroom." He was allowing himself to relish the idea more often now, since their heart to heart about all future things the day after they'd made up from their one and only argument. He remembered his wedding day with Lori, how terrified he had been-turned out, rightly so-but he was older now, he'd been through more. Somehow signing on for a lifetime of always having someone to count on, especially in times like now, seemed the opposite of scary; it seemed crucial.

His friends were laughing out loud now, seemingly enjoying his confession and his slight slur, but another thought crept through the fog of his brain and he caught himself before he made any more unilateral plans. "Wait," he said, his smile dropping. "That's exactly what Olivia said…"

"Who's Olivia?" Abe asked, looking again at Shane, who only shrugged.

"Forget I said all that," Rick continued, ignoring the question.

Shane laughed again, clearly entertained. "No ring?"

"Definitely a ring." Rick's smirk returned as he pictured Michonne's face when she'd found his mother's ring in his drawer.

"No dress?"

"Whatever she wants, man." He shifted a bit, maneuvering so he could lean back against the pillow that was still on the arm of the couch and close his eyes. "However she wants it. As long as she's mine."

"Alright, Shakespeare," Shane chuckled. "I think you should get some sleep."

…

The sun was setting fast by the time Michonne finally pulled into Rick's driveway. The cruiser was still parked in the same spot, assuring her that Abe and Shane had fulfilled their promise, and she put her own car in park beside it, unloading her bags from the back seat.

When she opened his front door, she saw the room was dark except for the bluish flicker from the television. Rick was passed out on the couch, which relieved her immediately. Shane and Abe were watching Sportscenter from the two matching arm chairs in the room and they both stood as she approached.

"Welcome home," Abe said, stepping to take her bags from her. He gestured toward Rick's bedroom, and she nodded. When he had disappeared in that direction, Shane came to meet her in the archway between the foyer, and the living room where Rick was snoring lightly.

"We kept him quiet," he said with a smirk.

Michonne smiled, looking around the quiet room, and felt a bit of contrition for not trusting the two. "Thank you," she said, gently patting his forearm.

Shane used the contact to pull her into a hug that caught her completely off guard. She stared up at him with wide eyes as he squeezed her shoulders, then let her go. "I know I kid around a lot, Miche," he said, "but, seriously, I appreciate you doin' what you're doin' for Rick. We've been friends a long time, through everything, and I just never seen him this happy… so thank you."

Michonne nodded, her abilty to speak still catching up to the moment. She glanced again at Rick's sleeping form, the contentment on his face mirroring that in her heart at having arrived back here with him, and she was reminded that she couldn't recall a time when she had been this happy either. "Thanks, Shane," she said. "But I can't imagine being anywhere else right now."

Shane reached out to squeeze her shoulder one more time, as Abe returned. "Alright well, we'll get outta your hair," he said. "I don't know if I can take much more of Grimes all stoned out. Though, I do regret not getting that shit on camera to keep for the right moment."

Michonne rolled her eyes at him, but she was seeing him in a different light now, and made sure it came with a genuine smile. "Thanks again, guys," she said, following them to the door and holding it open as they exited.

Rick began to stir at the sound of the door closing behind them and she went to meet him at the couch. "Hey," he rasped, sounding as if his voice had been rubbed down with sandpaper. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and glancing around the dark, empty room. "You get your stuff?"

"I did." She leaned over brushing his hair with her fingers and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Can I get you anything?"

"Just you," he said, tugging at the waistband of her jeans until she took the seat beside him. "The guys gone?"

"Yes. I'm glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too."

Rick pulled her closer until she was practically in his lap, and she frowned at him. "Careful," she whispered, wishing she could snuggle into him the way she usually did.

"I'm bein' careful. It's gonna be a long few weeks, though. I miss this already." Rick ran his hands up and down her back, cupping her ass at the bottom of each caress. He was cautious not to pull her any closer, but his hands were greedy.

"A few more days" she said, with another kiss. She knew it was a slippery slope, but she was in the mood for slippery.

"A few days, huh?" He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, giving her a wolfish grin that had her belly flipping. The glassiness of his eyes had been replaced by the sharp contrast of icy blue and inky black, as his pupils flared. She wasn't sure how he managed to look so handsome in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt, with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his cheeks looking hollow and drawn from the weight he'd lost in less than a week, but manage it he did.

Michonne was biting her own lip, trying to suppress the urge to take care of him in a different way, when his stomach grumbled loudly between them, and the growing intensity of the moment was broken as they both laughed.

"Alright. I'm done depriving you," she said. "What do you want to eat?" She lifted herself from the couch and headed toward the kitchen with the intention of at least bending the doctor's orders.

"I'd eat a horse right about now," he said. He remained rooted to his spot, but followed her the whole way with his eyes.

"I'll whip up something a little healthier than that," she said. "And I'll ditch the broth."

…

Michonne had woken with the sun, though she hadn't gotten a glimpse of it until she rolled out of Rick's bed and padded silently from his pitch dark bedroom to the kitchen where the day was already stretching its long fingers through the window. She moved around the kitchen island, tidying up what remained of their dinner. The way Rick had shovelled it into his mouth had her worried he may have actually been in danger of starving.

She put a kettle of water on the stove and switched on the burner, then stood on her tiptoes to reach the stash of tea she now kept in his cupboards. Once she had snatched the teapot from the stove, just before the whistle sounded as not to wake Rick, she poured some into a cup and leaned back against the counter, dipping the bag until the aromatic leaves infused the water with flavor and nutrients.

She wasn't typically the first one out of bed at his house. His post-work commute and the flurry of social activity that accompanied the nights they spent at her condo would often keep him lounging in bed longer than her when they stayed there. Here, however, where the evenings tended to be quieter, earlier, and more intimate, she would more often wake to his wandering hands or roll over to find his eyes already open and watching her. They would lay there for as long as the morning agenda would allow, then get up and make breakfast together, chatting and touching until they were forced to part. It was a pleasant way to start the day, but she found she also enjoyed poking around his comfortable house alone, acclimating.

She considered starting their morning meal now; his kitchen was spacious and functional, and she enjoyed preparing food there, but there was no telling how long he would remain asleep in his state of recuperation. She decided there was no sense in cooking something just to have it go cold, so she would wait for him to stir first. She took her tea into the living room and sat down on the couch, indulging in the quiet that permeated his space. Without Rick's conversation, or the twangy, country music he often had playing, to her chagrin, the only sounds keeping her company were those of the birds outside and the low hum of the refrigerator from the other room. She wasn't sure she'd ever even heard a refrigerator before; the traffic noise that provided the backbeat to the sounds of her own home would certainly have drowned out such a faint mechanical vibration.

The early light bounced cheerily around the room as she settled into the solitude. She pulled her feet up underneath her, letting her eyes bounce around with it. His mantle needed dusting, she noted, adding it to her to-do list. The faces of his parents and his brother's family stared back at her through an almost opaque film, begging to be allowed to shine again. She glanced at the coffee table where the magazines she had salvaged from his hospital stay sat, wrinkled and already fully perused, and made a note to grab him something else to read the next time she went out. Shane and Abe had added a couple of new ones to his collection, but she had enjoyed tossing those into the fire they had made the night before. Rick had been highly amused by what he called her petty streak, laughing to the point of pain as the pictures of scantily clad women had burned away. She had fallen just a little more in love with him while they giggled together over it.

She was finishing her mental organization of the day's agenda, when she heard the floorboards creak under Rick's slow shuffling steps. She looked up to find him smiling as he approached. He had his arm wrapped around his stitches and his hair was doing its best to greet her the way she liked, enthusiastically and with little regard for its wildness.

"Hey," she greeted, sliding over so he could join her. "How're you feeling?"

"Abandoned," he joked. "Why didn't you wake me up when you got up?"

"You need your sleep," she shrugged.

"You were cowering on the edge of the bed all night like you were gonna break me."

She reached up and combed a few curls back into place with her fingers. "I don't want to hurt you. Maybe I should sleep out here until you're a little more healed."

"You can forget about that," he said, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling her in for a proper good morning kiss.

She could tell by the strength in his embrace that he was feeling better than the day before, and she indulged him, letting her tongue mingle with his for a little longer, until she felt his fingers hook into the her tank top, pulling it down to expose the top of her breasts. "You're not up for that yet," she said, pushing his roaming hand to a safer spot on her hip. "The last thing you need is to pull one of your stitches."

"I know," he said, backing down quicker than she thought he would. "But it's been almost a week. I've got a hard-on the size of Texas, and you usually handle that for me in the morning."

Michonne laughed out loud, as Rick reached down to adjust the obvious bulge in his sweatpants. They did have a bit of a routine on mornings they woke up together. "You poor thing," she said, only half kidding.

"It's not funny." His tone actually had a little edge to it, and she couldn't help the giggling that continued to bubble from her pinched lips.

"You've gone plenty of days without my help," she said. "Don't tell me you walk around all sour-faced and grumpy when we're apart all week."

Rick shrugged unabashedly. "When you're not here, I...ah...handle things myself."

For some reason his confession made her insides tingle. "Don't let me stop you," she said, again only partially in jest.

Rick eyed her as if she had just challenged him. "I would, but you threw away all the magazines Shane brought."

"You're going to be handling things yourself for a lot longer than you think," she replied.

"I was joking," he laughed, reaching for her as she jumped out of the way. "You know I don't need any of that. Are you gonna help me out?"

Michonne narrowed her eyes, considering the request for only a moment before giving in. She was sure he could handle a hand job without too much exertion. She allowed her scowl to melt into a mischievous smirk, and pulled up to her knees beside him, placing her palm on his chest and walking her fingers down his abs, detouring around the edge of the bandaging. She reached the waistband of his pants, dipping inside, but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"That's not the kind of help I was looking for." She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he gave her a sheepish grin. "I...um...I won't be able to control myself if you do it. This is about doing it careful, like you said."

She sat back on her knees, confused. "What exactly are you asking for, Rick?"

He removed her hand from him, replacing it with his own before clearing his throat. "Pull your tank top down," he said, summoning that tone he had that never failed to send butterflies to her stomach.

"You're serious?"

"Serious as an appendicitis." She laughed again, and he twisted slightly, lowering himself into the corner of the couch and watched her.

She did as he asked, slipping one strap off of her shoulder and pulling the fabric down until the lacy neckline brushed against her nipples. "Like that?"

Rick pulled his lip between his teeth, his hand skimming the outside of his pants. He tipped his chin at her, gesturing for her to keep going.

She tugged a little harder until she tumbled free, the cool morning air, and the heat of his gaze pebbling her nipples instantly.

"Fuck," he whispered, shifting in his seat as his hand disappeared inside his sweatpants. She could see him working himself slowly beneath the fabric, but she decided unlike those women in the pictures she had burned, they were both going to get something out of this. She leaned over his legs, grabbing the waistband of his pants, and Rick lifted his hips as best he could to help her, as she pulled them down just enough so she had her own view. "How about yours?" he asked, his eyes dropping to the flannel bottoms she still had on.

She stood from the couch, slowly, letting him feast on her every movement, then turned her back to him, bending at the waist as she slid her pants over her ass, and let them fall to the floor. She smiled to herself when she heard him let out a barely perceptible whimper. She was beginning to enjoy this game.

Glancing over her shoulder at him, she stepped out of the fabric pooled at her feet, and walked toward the window. There was no one around to see her, so she pulled the curtain aside, letting the morning light glow around her like a halo, as she slipped her disheveled tank top over her head. Rick's breaths were coming faster and more audibly now, as she stood there in just her panties, feeling them start to dampen without him even laying a finger on her.

"Come back here," he grunted out, but she ignored him for the moment, instead bending again to gather her locs into her fist, and knot them on top of her head the way she always did right before she took care of him in another way. He definitely couldn't handle that yet, she thought, but the image had the desired effect. He rumbled with a low growl in response and she finally turned back to look at him.

His lips were parted deliciously, his eyes wild, and she started to squeeze her legs together involuntarily, needing the friction. This was fun and all, but watching him get closer and closer to the edge had her feeling a little left behind.

"Come back," he said again. This time she did, traversing the few steps she had put between them, and coming to stand just within his reach. He used his free hand to caress her hip, his breath hitching visibly when he finally touched her skin. "I might not be able to control this after all." His voice was raspy; he was almost there.

"Be careful," she whispered and he nodded.

"Yes ma'am."

"Still wish you had those magazines?" she purred, running a finger down her clavicle, in between her breasts.

"Never," he said. He let his thumb slip into the top of her panties, sliding it along her belly until he reached the front, then pulled them down the same way she had done with him; just enough.

When she felt his fingers slip inside her, her knees almost buckled, and she had to lean over him, steadying herself with a hand on the back of the couch. She should have known he wouldn't want to make this trip without her, and his newly divided concentration seemed to calm his own strokes enough to give him back some semblance of control.

"You first," he whispered, as she moved against his hand. She let her eyes close, her fingers digging into the couch cushions. She was used to him watching her, devouring her with his eyes as she let herself go, but standing over him like this, unable to touch him back, was turning her on more than she could imagine.

"I thought I was supposed to be helping you out," she breathed, her hips still moving in time with his hand.

"You are. I want to watch you."

The rasp in his voice was to much to bear, and her knees began to shake. She felt herself soak his fingers as she called out his name, clinging to the hold she had on the couch to keep from collapsing onto him.

Her eyes were still clenched shut, and her head still swimming, when she heard him reach his own peak. She reached down blindly for his face, caressing his jaw as he spit out a series of incoherent words and grunts. His hand slipped away from her, and she sunk to her knees on the floor beside the couch, resting her forehead against his thigh.

"All better?" she managed to mumble, against his pant leg.

"Much," he sighed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He moved his hand to the back of her elbow, tugging until she rose to her feet, then he shifted his legs so she could sit beside him. When she sank into the cushion next to him, he gingerly lifted his t-shirt over his head and used it to clean himself up, before tucking himself back into his pants. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, kissing the top of her head. "I love you," he whispered into her hair.

"I love you too," she said. "You want some breakfast?"

"No. I just want to sit here for a little bit."

She could tell he had exhausted himself, but he didn't look any worse for the wear, so she smiled at him and agreed. Her eyelids felt heavy all of a sudden, too, and with nothing else on her to-do list seeming important anymore, she decided to give into another of his requests. She shimmied across the couch so her head was in his lap, careful not to get too close, and closed her eyes.

"'Chonne?" he whispered, just as she felt herself drifting off to a sated sleep.

"Mmmhmm?"

"I'm never letting you go. I hope you know that."

She opened one eye to see him smiling with his head tipped back lazily. "Oh, I know."


	10. Chapter 10

"No!" Michonne said, wagging a finger at Rick. " _You_ can not be trusted!" She used the slippery lather coating her body to her advantage, escaping his grip and playfully darting out of reach in the large, walk-in shower of his en-suite bathroom.

"Come on," he laughed, stalking toward her and trapping her against the tile with a hand on the wall on either side of her. "Just stand right there." He trailed a finger down her belly, making her shiver.

"No. I told you when I got in here, I don't want to get my hair wet. Rinse off, and meet me in bed in five minutes. We don't have a lot of time." She stepped around him, exiting the stall and wrapping a towel around her body while he watched her with a grin that betrayed all of his intentions.

"I'll be there in two," he called after her as she quickly dried off and climbed into the disheveled bed.

It was Rick's first day back at work after his surgery and he was already running late, but that was _his_ problem. Now that he was fully healed, she wasn't going to complain if he wanted to make up for lost time. She had missed this.

She lay on her belly, bending her knees just so, and crossing her legs at the ankle, then she propped her head on her hand and practiced her sexiest pout. She heard the water shut off, and moments later he appeared in the doorway, the same cocky smile on his face.

He strode toward her in three quick steps, grabbing her ankles and yanking her toward the edge of the bed as she squealed, her enticing pose ruined. She forgave him in an instant as his fingers plunged into her and she let out an altogether different noise. He was standing between her legs, now hanging off the bed, and his other hand was on the small of her back, pressing her into the mattress, and pinning under his relentless ministrations.

"Oh my God," she moaned into the duvet.

"We don't have a lot of time," he repeated her, his fingers taking a short cut he had learned long ago. This was not a scenic route opportunity.

"I don't...I'm gonna...Rick…" She clutched the sheets as her hips lifted off of the bed and she trembled around his hand. That had to be a record.

She could hear him chuckling behind her as she moaned loudly. Before she could even catch her breath, she felt his wet fingers dig into her hip as he steadied her to take more of him.

"You ready?" he asked. Her eyes were still clenched shut and she couldn't find the energy to answer him. "'Chonne…" She still didn't answer. "You'd better be."

…

Rick finished the last button on his uniform shirt, yawning as he tucked it into his pants. He was chiding himself for expelling a significant amount of energy before he was even fully dressed for his first day back, but it was worth it.

"So, I'll be home around six," he said, moving on to his belt. Michonne was pinning her locs up in the stand-up mirror on the back of his closet, dressed in a tight, red, wrap dress that had him wishing he was pulling his belt off instead of on. "You want me to grab something for dinner on my way home since you'll be in the office today?"

He watched her face fall in the mirror and he paused his buckling to question her with his eyes. "The thing is," she said. "I have an early meeting tomorrow."

"Ok. What does that have to do with dinner?"

She put the last pin in her hair and turned toward him, her posture deflating. "I was thinking...with you going back to work and all...maybe I should go back to my apartment tonight."

It's was Rick's turn to deflate. He'd known in the back of his head that she would eventually have to go home. Even though this was the first day he was cleared to return to duty, he had been self-sufficient for days- clear check-up, no pain meds, physical activity was definitely back to normal. Neither one of them had mentioned it though, and he had let himself get used to her being a fixture in his home, despite a not-so-distant conversation where they'd decided otherwise. He cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his head, trying not to look as disappointed as he was. "Yea, I guess if you have to be in early. With the drive and all…"

"Right," she said, her eyes flitting to the floor.

"But...I don't have to be in until eleven tomorrow," he offered. "I could come there tonight, help you unpack."

Her smile quickly returned, causing his to grow. "Ok. Let's have dinner out then. Bring a change of clothes and we can meet at Bruno's."

He took the few steps needed to gather her into his arms and kiss her, careful not to disturb her makeup. "It's been awhile since I've slept in your ridiculously expensive sheets."

"Those sheets are worth every penny, but be careful what you wish for," she smirked, pulling away to search out the bag she would use to take all of her stuff back with her. "Remember how much you hate the traffic noise at my place?"

Rick sucked in a sharp breath and pretended to be re-thinking the offer. "That's true. It is like sleeping on the freeway. You'll just have to make sure I'm exhausted enough to sleep through it."

She rolled her eyes at him in jest, then proceeded to move around his room, gathering her toiletries. "I'll see what I can do."

…

After helping Michonne load her car with all of the things that had made his house feel warm and full over the last three weeks, Rick kissed her goodbye and made the short drive to the station. Having barely enough time to finish his travel mug of coffee before arriving, he took a moment to calculate where Michonne would be on the highway back to her house. She'd still have over three quarters of the way to go, he realized with a sigh, and began to feel guilty. She'd have to leave before sunrise to get to her meeting the next day if she left from his house like he had selfishly wanted to ask her to do.

When he pushed through the double glass doors of the station, Shane was the first person he saw. He greeted Rick with a big smile and a fake-out jab to his abdomen that, despite his healing, had him flinching away with a yelp. Shane laughed heartily at Rick's scowl, falling into step with him as they made their way to Rick's desk.

"Back in the saddle," he said. "Grimes and Walsh ride again. Did you miss me?"

"I've seen you every week." Rick ignored Shane's antics and familiarized himself with the happenings of all of his regular customers while he was away. Driving after suspensions, a DUI; he had missed very little in this quiet little town while he was recuperating.

"How's Michonne?"

"She's fine." He set down the report and took his mug over to the coffee maker for a top off before they set out on patrol.

"Ya'll have a fight or something?" His expression turned dour and Rick wondered when he and Michonne started affecting Shane's moods.

"No. Why do you ask that?"

"You're pouting."

"Pouting?"

"Brooding, sulking, whatever you want to call it. Your face is all mopey. Haven't seen it like that since before you two met, except that one fight y'all had."

Rick scratched at the back of his head, clearing his throat and (he hoped) the dark cloud hanging over his head. He was feeling a little mopey, but he didn't need Shane ribbing him for over this, and that fight was certainly not something he wanted to rehash. Especially when he had half a mind to revive it by begging Michonne to stay this morning.

Technically it had been he who had put the final brakes on the whole idea of living together, but he knew as soon as he said it that it was a preemptive strike. Ultimately, his brain had convinced his heart that it was better to be overly cautious with something as important as what he had with Michonne. The problem was that the two months following that fight had somehow been their best yet, making the outcome ironic and almost torturous. Between the fake sick day turned long weekend that they'd taken to explore the pleasure of making up, to Michonne playing nursemaid during his recovery, they'd spent more time living together since their fight about not living together than they would have if she had just said yes and started the long process of renting out her apartment.

"I'm fine," he assured Shane getting more irritated at the situation by the minute. "Just a little sore still."

Shane nodded, accepting his lame excuse and they climbed into their squad car. After a few quiet moments in the passenger seat though, Shane started in again. "You gonna sit there silent all day acting like I'm your chauffeur?" he asked with a slight whine. "I've been driving around with Leon while you were gone. Least you could do is entertain me with a little conversation now that you're back. You watch the game last night?"

"Nah, 'Chonne's got me reading this book. I was caught up in it- forgot it was on."

Shane snickered.

"What are you twelve? You're gonna give me a hard time for being literate?"

"It ain't that, although missing the Hawks is pretty lame."

"Then what?"

"You're not telling me something. I believe you didn't have a fight 'cause your asshole-meter is only hitting around seventy percent, so what is it? You still on light duty in the bedroom? Not getting it in like you used to?"

"Clean bill of health," Rick said, innocuously batting away the speculation.

"I'm gonna keep guessing and you're not gonna like it."

Rick dragged a hand over his face, peering at Shane's mischievous eyes. He glanced at the clock; he was only thirty minutes into his shift and the car offered no escape routes. He might as well just get it over with. "She's heading back to her place tonight," he explained. "I liked having her there full time, but we aren't doing that yet, so I packed her stuff into her car this morning and she's going back to the city."

To his credit, Shane did not immediately laugh or tease about the situation. Instead, he let out a thoughtful "huh", and made a few turns on their usual route before he spoke again. "And you don't want to ask her to stay because of what happened last time?" he asked.

"Right."

"Did you give her any indication you were unhappy with the prospect of her leaving?" he asked. "Or did you do your typical Mr. Agreeable act and start packing up her stuff?"

"I didn't pout, as you so kindly put it, if that's what you mean?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Shane smiled. "Women like to see a little emotion, some feelings they can over-analyze and dwell on. She probably took one look at your hands on your hips and your agreeable nod and thought you were ready to have your space back."

Rick replayed the moment in his head. He thought his suggestion of following her home was enough to let her know he didn't want to be without her, but Michonne was big on body language. She was always relaying anecdotes about cases she was working where someone smiled the wrong way or scratched at their chin while they were telling a story, thus laying all of their secrets bare. When she had suggested going back to her place, he had looked pretty much exactly as Shane had described- acquiescent, unbothered. He tipped his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. His stitches started to ache from the friction of the seatbelt and he could feel Shane's eyes boring a hole into his profile. He hated when Shane was right.

"Are you thinking of ways to thank me for my sage advice? Cause we're about to need gas and I never turn down a chocolate cruller from that bakery across the street."

Rick glanced across the console at Shane's middle. "Maybe you oughta," he smirked.

"Oh, coffee too?" Shane replied, not missing a beat. "You're too kind, brother."

"Yeah, yeah," he said as Shane pulled beside a gas pump and Rick jumped out to hit the donut shop. "I'll be right back."

…

"Well look who it is!" Sasha jumped out of her seat at their favorite coffee shop when Michonne swung through the door. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too," Michonne replied, leaning in to embrace her friend. They had a standing coffee and pastry lunch date on Monday mornings and Michonne had missed the last three since she'd been working from Rick's house and only driving in for client meetings. "Did you order for me?" She smiled brightly at the raspberry filled croissant and twenty-ounce coffee that sat at the place setting across from Sasha.

"I did. I knew you'd be in a rush."

Michonne slid into the chair and took a long sip of her beverage. "Thank you."

"So Rick is back to work today, huh? Glad he is better. That was kind of scary."

"Yes he is, and it was. I still feel awful for dragging him around all night on the verge of an acute medical emergency."

"You hardly could have known."

"You knew," she said, remembering Sasha's keen eye on him over dinner.

"Yes, but I'm trained and trust me, for someone with a ticking time bomb inside them, he was covering it well. I thought he was just green with jealousy over Jay."

"Don't remind me," Michonne laughed. "I really put him through the wringer that night."

"He made it. Are you still staying there? I was surprised to get your text about resuming our healthy lunch tradition." Sasha bit into a large Boston Creme Donut and smirked.

"I've been there since he came home from the hospital, but…"

"But what?"

"I'm going home after work tonight."

"Uh oh."

"No, no. It's nothing like that. I have a meeting and it just makes sense. Rick is staying over. I just...I guess I'm kind of sad."

Sasha put down her pastry and leaned back in her chair, looking at Michonne pensively. "Sad because you want to stay?"

"I think so." She let the confession out so quietly she barely heard her own voice. "It feels like when we left to go home after Maggie's bachelorette party-"

"Girl's weekend…"

"Right, whatever it was. It feels like I've been on vacation and now I have to go back to the real world where things are unnecessarily complicated."

"You two have been doing fine in the real world. Great, actually. Sickeningly, annoyingly adorable actually."

"I know..." she trailed off, unable to fully articulate the somberness that had settled over her, but Sasha seemed to figure it out anyway.

"So are you two going to re-open the living together conversation?"

Michonne took another long sip of her coffee and contemplated the question she had hoped Sasha would voice for her. "I don't know. He didn't mention it when I suggested I go back, and the way we left it, the ball is in his court."

"Oh come on," Sasha said, waving a dismissive hand at her.

Michonne wasn't expecting that response and her face scrunched in question.

"The ball has literally always been in your court, Michonne. From the second you two met. This is what your entire fight was about. He's been waiting for you to shoot that damn ball since the beach."

"But I did!" she defended, remembering when she had summoned every ounce of courage she had ever had and was promptly shut down. "I told him I wanted to, after all of that, and he said-"

"He didn't say no; don't reinvent history."

"He did."

"No. He told you he would ask you again when you'd had more time to think about it. What that meant was 'I'm hurt and scared and I need a minute.' It didn't mean no."

Michonne nodded, tearing off another piece of her croissant and popping it in her mouth. "So you think I should bring it up again?"

"I think you should make sure his minute is over, and if it is, let him know you're still ready when he is."

"And how do I know when his minute is over?"

"You'll figure it out."

…

Rick pulled up to the restaurant just past seven o'clock, tired and just a little sore from his first day back. At least he was only doing eight hour shifts to start, rather than his usual twelve. Otherwise he'd really be feeling it, and he would also still be sitting in a squad car with Shane, instead of walking down the street to meet Michonne.

He'd changed into a pair of jeans and an old Braves t-shirt that he knew Michonne liked on him before he left the station. He had a feeling she would end up stealing it to sleep in, like she usually did when he wore it, but that was part of the appeal. He could take it home with him afterward and keep it smelling like her until she came back. He was feeling more dejected by the minute at the idea of their little interlude of playing house coming to an end. Shane was right, he did play down his sadness over her leaving, but even though a lot had happened since then, the last time he'd tried to broach the subject of them living together was still too raw and painful.

He reached the door to Bruno's, the cozy bar and grill where they'd had drinks the night before he was rushed to the E.R. He'd wanted to make a joke when she'd suggested it- ask her if she was trying to put him back in the hospital as a way to keep this thing going- but she still had some weird guilt over the whole thing, so he decided not to press any buttons.

They saw each other at the same time, her standing at the bar and him pushing his way through the happy hour crowd. She kissed him hard when he finally reached her, and he suddenly didn't feel so worn.

"How was your first day back?" she asked, running her hands up and down his chest, while he circled her waist with his arms.

"It was good. Shane was so happy to be done with Leon, he was only half as annoying as usual."

She laughed, sliding onto a bar stool and gesturing for him to take the one beside her. "That must have been nice. So nothing strenuous?"

"Lotta sitting on my ass."

"Good. I like to hear about days like that. Besides, you need to put back on some of the weight you lost over the last month." She poked at his stomach playfully. "I hope you had lots of donuts while you were sitting on your ass."

"You can't resist the donut jokes, can you?" he sighed, flagging the bartender and secretly wishing it was her friend Jay so he could make another show of their coupledom. "Sasha told me about pastry Mondays, so don't try to project your bad habits on to me."

She giggled at him, the straw from her cocktail caught between her teeth and his heart sank again.

"So, we unpacking when we get back to your place? Or you wanna rent a movie or something?"

"I've got a ton of laundry," she sighed. Rick had a vision of the last time he'd done a load of laundry, Michonne's lacy little thongs mixed in with his socks and t-shirts, and he took a long swig of the beer that had been delivered, trying to mask his frown.

"A movie and laundry it is," he said. "I can fold."

"No you can't," she grinned.

"Fine. I can entertain you with my witty commentary while you fold."

"That sounds more likely." She offered him a smile, before picking up the menu and scanning it. "I'm glad you're here," she said, her eyes still on the food choices. "I wasn't ready to sleep alone."

He nodded, his head swimming with the possible ways that comment could segue into a 'why don't you just stay?' conversation, but he stifled that with a sip of beer too. "What do you feel like?" he asked instead, looking over her shoulder at the menu.

"Probably a salad," she said, "since it was pastry Monday."

"I was thinking nachos. I need the calories, right?"

She sighed loudly as if he were twisting her arm and he watched with amusement as she feigned annoyance. "Fine. I'll share them with you."

"That was hard."

"I'm here for you, Rick."

"You always are."

…

Michonne led the way across the parking lot of her building with Rick following behind. He was carrying his overnight bag and the suitcase she had used to pack up a good portion of the clothes and toiletries that she had been keeping at his house for the past three weeks. She'd left a few things there; she still had the drawer, so she might as well use it. It was mostly just the stuff she needed for work that she brought home. Her meeting was in eleven hours and she didn't want to be digging through her closet's second string line up in the early morning. She'd left her favorite pajamas, a few of her hair products, and the book she was reading. She'd be back there in a couple of days when the weekend rolled around; she wasn't sure why she felt like she was being shipped off to summer camp.

She reached the door, pausing to gather the piles of mail that had accumulated while she was gone and stuff them under her arm. Then she fingered the correct key on her chain and bent to stick it in the knob, when she stopped short, taking a step back.

"What's the matter?" Rick asked, when she almost backed into him.

"The door," she said, "It's open." She heard her suitcase fall to the ground, and Rick's hand clamped down on her shoulder, pulling her away from the door. He swapped places so he was standing in front of her, and she watched him inspect it himself, before turning her around and marching her back to their cars, parked side by side.

"Get in and wait here," he said, opening the door to his truck. She climbed in, and he went around to the driver's side, reaching across the seat into the center console, and pulled out his gun.

"Rick!" she whispered, her pulse ticking up at the cloud that had settled over his face. "Do you think someone is inside?"

"Stay here, Michonne." He tossed her the car keys and shut the door without another word.

Michonne watched him stalk toward the door, both hands on his gun, the barrel pointed at the ground as he crept. She fingered through her purse, her eyes never leaving him, until she found her phone, holding it at the ready in case she needed to call for help. Her heart was in her throat as she watched him push open the door with his foot, before disappearing inside.

Six excruciatingly long minutes later, he came back out and she finally pulled in a breath large enough to fill her lungs. He stashed his gun in the back of his jeans, exchanging it for his phone as he crossed the pavement toward the car. He was already speaking to someone when she opened the truck door to greet him. He put an arm around her, pulling her into his chest while he recited her address, offered a few more yes's and no's, then hung up the call.

"It's all clear," he said, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. "But you had a break-in. There's some stuff missing. The place is a mess."

She could feel tears start to burn her eyes, not at the state of her apartment, but at the incident in general, and she started to tremble. Rick's cop face quickly softened and he began fussing over the drops from her eyes, wiping them away with his thumbs. "Shhh," Rick said, pulling her under his arm. "It's just stuff, Michonne. You're ok."

"I know." She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. "I'm sorry."

She was shaking in his arms, picturing someone inside her space. How long had it been like that? What if she had been home? She needed to get it together. She took a deep breath and felt his fingers tip her chin upward so she could look at him. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute, but Rick was steady and calm.

"Don't be sorry. It's a lot. Let's just go through and look at what's missing. The police are on their way and they're going to want to know."

She looked up at him, suddenly terrified to move.

"No one is in there," he assured her, easing her out of the truck with a hand around her waist.

Rick squeezed her hand as he led her through the door, still ajar. He was careful not to touch the knob, but he pointed at it as he walked her in. "You said the lock was sticking," he said. "Looks like they didn't have to try too hard to get it open." She took her own look as they passed, noting the lack of damage. They'd just waltzed right in. When she took another step past him, and finally saw the state of her apartment, she couldn't help her reaction. Her hands flew to her mouth and she froze, every hair on her body standing on end.

The couch cushions were thrown on the floor, her entertainment center had been thoroughly ransacked with cables spilling from the wall where her television used to be. All of the drawers and cabinets were open and torn through. It looked like a war zone. Rick sensed her crumbling again and stepped in front of her, bending so that they were face to face. He cupped her face, then tilted his head to the side, obviously confused by her emotional reaction. She was good in emergencies, someone who didn't get flustered easily, but here she was losing her cool and clinging to his shirt sleeves like a scared little girl.

"These things are usually random," he said, stroking her cheek as he spoke. "They took what they wanted and it's over."

She nodded, swallowing a few times to try to force down the lump in her throat that wanted to spill out in sobs. She didn't want to be here in the first place; that was the where her exasperation was coming from. She wanted to go back to Rick's and climb in his bed that felt more like home than hers now. She wanted to wake up before dawn to get to her meeting and happily chug an extra cup of coffee to make up for her early departure time. She looked at him, wondering if he felt the same way, like this was a big neon sign telling her to go home. He was stroking her skin like he was desperate for a way to make her feel better, and she thought about just telling him she couldn't stay here after this; asking him to take pity on her and whisk her away to safety. But the last thing she wanted to do was to guilt him into a major life decision.

She didn't get a chance to decide one way or another. A pair of uniformed officers appeared in the doorway then, announcing their presence with a loud knock on the open door, and Rick kissed her cheek and went to greet them, leaving all of her thoughts unsaid.

…

It was half past ten by the time the cops were finishing up at her apartment, and Michonne was both wired and exhausted at the same time. She was sitting on her bed, looking around at her clothes still hanging out of the drawers and strewn about the floor, while Rick stood in the living room, his hands on his hips and looking completely in control as he chatted with one of the officers who was still on scene. She'd given them a list of the missing items, then retreated to her bedroom with the intention of finally getting out of her dress and heels. Even the rooms where nothing had been taken looked like a tornado had been through them though, and the thought of someone going through her underwear drawer had her hesitant to strip out of her clothes. She rubbed at her burning eyes, feeling her mascara crumble beneath her fingers and probably smudge all over her face.

Rick and the officer disappeared out of her line of vision, and after a moment or two the door closed and the sound of his boots clomping toward her filled her ears. He fell heavily onto the mattress beside her, jostling her out of her numb staring.

"You ok?" he asked, running his hand up her back. She leaned into his touch, thankful again for the way he'd handled everything tonight, from checking out her apartment, to dealing with the police, she'd been useless and she knew it.

Rick was peering up at her with a concerned gaze, and she leaned back onto the mattress beside him and snuggled into his chest. "I'm just tired," she said. He reached his arm around her, so he could look at his watch.

"Let's go to bed. I can clean up some of this stuff tomorrow before I go in."

"What about the door?"

"It's locked. I checked it twice. No one is coming back here tonight, Michonne." He kissed the top of her head, then glanced behind him at the bedside table where he had set his gun, reminding her that she was well-protected with him beside her.

She wanted to fall asleep where they lay, but she couldn't settle her mind when she was surrounded by the chaos that was her room. She pulled to her feet, crossing the room to gather some of the clothes from the floor. She started to put them back in the drawer, but thought better of it, instead deciding to wash everything that had been touched by whomever was here.

"'Chonne, I'll do it tomorrow." He stood too, coming up behind her and tugging at her hips.

"I can't sleep in here like this," she said, waving an arm at the floor.

"Alright." Rick started gathering clothes too, tossing them in the hamper by the door. When they had finished with that task, he went to get a dustpan and broom from her kitchen, sweeping up some broken glass from the top of her dresser where a photo of her parents had been knocked down and smashed. When her bedroom was tidy enough, he closed the door, insisting that the rest wait until morning.

Without speaking, they both undressed, him down to his boxer shorts, and her swapping her dress for the t-shirt he had just taken off and a new pair of underwear from her suitcase. Rick climbed into bed first, holding the comforter open for her, but she hesitated.

"I have to brush my teeth," she said, glancing at the door and the dark hallway. "Will you come with me?"

He smiled, climbing back out of the bed, and dug through his overnight bag for his own toothbrush. When she had retrieved hers from her suitcase, they walked together down the hall and brushed their teeth together in silence. She thought again how odd it felt to be back here. Maybe it was that the place looked nothing like she left it, but it felt like they were staying in a hotel or at a friend's house instead of her home for the last few years. She shuffled a little closer to him, leaning on his shoulder as she brushed. She glanced at him in the mirror, wanting to ask him if he felt it too. She wanted to know if, like Sasha had said, his moment was over; if over the last few weeks they had entered a new one, but his eyes looked so tired. For his first day back, he'd had way too much drama. Now wasn't the time to start a conversation like that; not while they were still standing in the middle of such a chaotic night.

…

When they had both rinsed and dried, Rick climbed back into bed, holding his arms out for Michonne to settle in them. He studied the side of her face as she rested wearily on his chest. He'd never seen Michonne scared before, and it made him want to wrap her up in his arms and drive her back to his house where he could protect her.

Maybe this was some sort of sign; the final straw that would convince her to come back for good. His training told him that the likelihood of her actually being in danger by staying here was slim to none. It had been a random hit, a broken lock and a bunch of mail piling up to indicate no one was home. It would be unfair of him to suggest otherwise to convince her to move in, but this wasn't the only reason he wanted to open that discussion again.

The thought of her leaving had been breaking his heart slowly all day long. This was just the push he needed to stop being so afraid to broach the subject again. She had to feel it too; she was clutching at him like a lifeline, even as she attempted to fall asleep. She didn't want to go either and one of them was going to have to take the risk. They weren't in the same place as before; so much had happened.

"Michonne," he whispered, unable to go to sleep until he'd said what was on his mind.

"Yeah?"

He let out a long breath through his nose before continuing. "I think this was a freak thing," he said, his tone measured. "I don't think you're unsafe here." She nodded; he could tell she needed to hear that. "I can fix the lock for you. Make sure everything is secure. But…" She held him tighter. "It's not because I think you're not safe…I've just gotten used to you being with me. I know we already talked about this, I just figured...with everything that happened…"

She pulled away and his face fell, preparing himself for the look of unpleasant surprise he'd seen the last time. It didn't come, though. Her eyes were watering and he thought he caught a tiny quiver in her bottom lip.

"I've gotten used to it too," she said, wiping at her eye with the bottom of his t-shirt.

He pulled himself up to sit beside her. He response propelled him forward, and he suddenly couldn't get the words out fast enough. "It just seems sort of crazy to go back to being apart when we know how good it is to not be, right?"

"Right."

"And I don't want you here alone if you could be with me."

"I don't want to be here alone either. I want to be with you, Rick." He watched her body finally relax for the first time that night, her heartbeat evening out and her breaths getting deeper. "It's not because I'm scared," she said. "I wanted to even before this." She leaned in to kiss him and he let out a long sigh of relief.

"Alright then." He smiled with his lips still pressed to hers. "I'll help you get this place all cleaned up, and Michonne, I'll understand if you want to keep it. Rent it out instead of selling the place. I know you'd feel better if-"

She quieted him with another kiss, longer this time so there was no confusion. She pulled away, running her hands down to his shoulders and squeezing. "I'm not worried, Rick. I don't need any more excuses. You said you're never giving me up, right?"

"That's right," he smiled.

"Promise?"

"I promise. Forever."

"Then let's get started on forever."

He nodded and pulled in a breath that hitched in his throat, his eyes zeroing in on hers. "OK," he whispered. "Let's start right now."


End file.
